Summerfield Part 3

JULIA WILMER.

A delightful ride of a single day, and most of the distance on the rail-way, will carry us now through a grand succession of waving harvests and verdant woods, of swarming hamlets and splendid towns, from the Cayuga to the Hudson, and set us down in Cloverdale, whose lovely homes nestle like a brood of milk-white doves in the covert of the Rensselaer hills. And then performing a journey of thought a little more rapid and long, we return to the time of our story, recalling the year and season, and admit another character to our scene.

We find it a pleasant afternoon for a walk. The blue Indian summer opens blandly around, and imbibing beauty and gladness through every sense and pore, we walk a good while, and then turn our steps to the mansion of the Masons; enjoy a free talk and a cozy cup of tea, and get a glance at Julia Wilmer.

The Masons have a lower and narrower mansion than they mean to have in a very few years; and their family grows, and crowds it too much; but it has a neat appearance, and the elms and maples in front, and the apples and peaches on the sides and rear, give it pleasant shades and delicious comforts. And the moral and mental scenery within, has many lights, and verdures and fruits.

The Masons are very good people. They are honest and industrious; they often relieve distress; and they have a few fine volumes on the dresser that most of them know by heart. The princ.i.p.al fault that any one finds with the Masons is, that they are too exacting in a bargain, too grasping for money and lands, and expect and demand, too much of their servants.

Julia Wilmer loves them, for they took her when an orphan, gave her a comfortable home, and reared her to womanhood with virtue, intelligence and hope.

And we see that Julia carries a crimson face, and smiling look; although she stoops considerably, and her long arms and loping gait, make her appear to many, ungainly; she is ruddy as a rareripe peach, and smiles from her forehead and eyes, and face and mouth.

But a feeling of sadness agitates our heart as we glance at Julia's history. Orphanage presents, in the brightest relief, one of the saddest sights that our weeping eyes behold; and hers was especially sad. Her father, mother and two sisters were all carried off to the grave in the s.p.a.ce of one week, which she was spending abroad with a poor relative; and she was left without the comfort of a parting word or kiss, and cast upon the world at a tender and almost helpless age, with no provision for her welfare. Her poor sobbing heart came well nigh breaking, and though her pitiful condition, and her sweet and attracting manners, ensured her much sympathy, and many friends; yet none could think to offer her a home, and take the place of her family, but the Masons, of whom we speak. They took her home at last, and gave her shelter from the storms. They engaged to rear her to womanhood, and s.h.i.+eld her from harm and need. They were always kind to her, and she never received a harsh word or look from them. They cultured her fine sense, and gave her a knowledge of books and things. They trained her against deceptions. They gave her entire person, the reason, the will, affections and form, as finished an education, as one often found at that day among intelligent farmers.

And yet they did not do right by Julia. She was large of her age, and all the more tender for being large; and they tasked her too severely, and exacted too much of her. She performed boy's work too often; she was dropping potatoes or pulling weeds, or spreading hay in the field, when she ought to have been sewing or doing house-work; she milked too many cows; she carried too many pails of sap in the sugar bush; she gleaned too much wheat; she sewed on hard sewing too long at a time; she spun too much wool and flax, and turned too many cheeses. The consequence was, that while she retained much of a superabundant cheerfulness, she was stoop-shouldered, and looked narrow over the chest; her form was less elastic, and her hands were hard and homely.

But if Matthew Fabens had searched the wide world over, he would not have found a better bride than she. He had known her from a child, and could well appreciate her intelligence and worth. He chose her in a love, whose affiance was sanctioned in heaven; and after three years'

absence in the Lake Country, he and Julia met again at his father's house.

The joy of that home, at that meeting, you may well imagine, was hearty and high. The young people feared it was too much to enjoy long. The old people wept and smiled, and pressed and fondled their son in childish delight, and asked if it could be he, or did they not dream?

and how he had been, and if he still set his heart on his western home.

They rejoiced till midnight, and hurried each other with questions, and wearied each other with talk.

"It looks pleasant as ever in Cloverdale," said Matthew. "Home is home, after all. The old hills looked so good, I wanted to kiss 'em, when they hove in sight. Nothing appears altered; the old church looks good as ever; and the old elm-tree seemed to know me, and welcome me back with its waving limbs; and the house here--every room is just as I left it; and the water from the well tastes as cold and sweet; and I cannot see but you all look about as you did, when I went away. I knew father would hold his age; but I expected mother would look a little older. Julia, if she's altered at all, her hair is more of a chestnut, her cheeks are rounder, and a little more ruddy, and she is straighter than she was. But none of you can tell how I feel to see you all once more, and sit down under this old roof again. Home is home, after all!"

"You'll hate to go back again, won't you, Matthew?" asked Major Fabens.

"I shall grieve to leave you and mother again, but I am not quite ready to have you go on with me this time. I want to do more to my farm; I want to build an addition to my log-house for you, and prepare a little more to make you comfortable. Yes, I shall always feel sad to leave Cloverdale, though I like the Waldron Settlement quite as well."

"Think you can get a living, and build up a manhood there then, do you?"

"A good living, I am sure I can get; I hope I may build up a manhood.

I like the country well; it is a rich soil, and very easy to cultivate.

My cornfield is as mellow as a bed of ashes this year; I had a fine field of red-chaff wheat, with full heads, a plump berry, and straw as bright as a dollar; and I wish I could have brought down some of my big pumpkins and melons."

"I think I shall like it pretty well, if I live to get there; I love a new country; it gives you more s.p.a.ce to breathe in. The air is sweeter, the woods are grander, the gra.s.s is greener, crops are more perfect, neighbors are freer-hearted, and a man prospers faster there.

You have good neighbors, and I hear that you have some good times in the settlement. Think you will like a home in the wild, wild woods, Julia?"

"I think I shall. Cousin John lives where it is quite new, and I am delighted to go there. I know I shall like it on the Cayuga. I will be in my joy, setting my table for a hunting party, or a harvest feast."

"I know you will all like it, and when we all get there, if Heaven smiles, my joy will be complete."

They retired, and attempted to sleep; the morning came, and Matthew rose and completed the circuit of his calls and visits. A week flew away, and his visiting was done, and Julia Wilmer was Julia Fabens, and with the blessings of fond parents, they departed for their far forest home.

The journey was long and difficult for Julia to undertake. They could not then journey as now, on the rapid railway, winding green valleys, ascending great hills, and gliding through cities and towns, with as gentle a whirl, and as jocund a clack as if spinning skeins of silk.

They mounted the tardy wagon, and rattled and jounced along behind a loitering team. But Julia had fort.i.tude and spirit, to meet fatigues and discouragements bravely. Her early experience now furnished the fruits that could most refresh her heart; the fruits of courage, hope, and self-a.s.sistance. She expected the journey of life would not always be smooth, and she hoped it would not have more to buffet her joy, or jostle, or weary, than the road to the Waldron Settlement.

They came to the land of lakes. Emerging from a dense forest, on the last morning of the journey, they welcomed the light of an opening, and the sweet Skaneateles glowed upon their eyes. They were moving along its foot, and it glimmered and waved like a lake of quicksilver, in reply to the smiles of a splendid sky.

"Is this your Cayuga? How lovely!--What! are we in the settlement so soon?" asked Julia, with joy flas.h.i.+ng from her eyes, and hope rekindling on her cheeks.

"No, we are near the settlement," said Matthew. "This is the Skaneateles. Have courage, my dear. I have brought you over a long, rough way. You are weary, I know, but have courage now. We shall reach home to-night."

They refreshed themselves with luncheon from their basket, and cool, sweet water from the lake, and rode on a few hours longer, and another lake saluted them with a bright smile of welcome.

"Then, this is your Cayuga?"

"No, this is the Owasco; but we have not far to go. Cheer up, Julia, cheer up, now, and prepare your dainty eyes for a peep at the loveliest Eden."

They rode awhile longer, and another lake burst in beauty on their gaze. "I know that is it, and here we come to the settlement. I declare it is a lovely spot, worth coming to see! What waters, and woods, and fields! I shall love this place, I know I shall. Ho! there comes Uncle Walter to meet us now!"

And Uncle Walter was followed by Aunt Huldah, and Matthew and Julia were heartily shaken, questioned and kissed, and led into the house, and served to hospitalities, that would flatter and refresh the proudest mortal's heart.

VI.

THE NEW HOME AND SETTLEMENT.

Matthew and Julia rose in the morning and went into their new home. It was a great change for Julia, and nothing but contrasts reminded her of her home at Mr. Mason's. But somehow it suited her heart the moment she entered its doorway, and she took charge of its interests with pride and joy; and hours, and days, and weeks, and months, and years pa.s.sed by with a much more rapid flight than before she was a bride.

And following the steps of Time through a few more rounds of his race, and omitting to note the common events that rise up on the way, we will now pause at a new stage of action, and attempt to recall the scenes.

The house remains yet before us, the same as when Julia first saw it, except that a small addition has been built and furnished; a part.i.tion takes off a bedroom from one end, and another window has been cut and set in the chamber. It is a handsome log house as one would find in all the Waldron Settlement. It is long and wide. The logs are hewn on the inside; it has a white maple floor below, and a white ba.s.swood floor above; it has a large open fireplace, and a stick chimney, through which, as through a telescope, the stars may be counted at night; and, whitewashed above and around, it presents a neat and pleasant appearance.

The house stands on an eminence which overlooks nearly every field on the farm, and admits you to sights as distant as the blue mountain fringes lifted away beyond Ithaca in the south. There are maples, ashes, and elms in the door-yard; there is a beautiful garden on the east, and a cool and delightful spring of water on the west. There is a log barn, thatched with straw, on the right; and barracks for wheat and hay, and cribs for corn, on the left. There is already a fine meadow of timothy, with white-ash shade trees, waving on the north; a pasture beyond the garden on the east, and a wheat-field on the south.

Then a cornfield greets you west, and your eyes enjoy the scene.

Around this lovely spot, the distance of a field on either side of the house, the woods still wave their crowns of majesty, and hide the Owasco, and most of the Cayuga from view.

As master of this little rural domain, you behold Matthew Fabens, now grown to ample manhood; and he would make a fine bust for Powers to cut in marble. He stands six feet one without his shoes; he is straight as the white-ash shade tree that honors the north meadow; and his body, and arms, and legs, are round, and hard, and clean. He has a fine turned head, deficient most in caution; high in benevolence, veneration, and conscientiousness; and full in the regions that show he can construct his own implements and comforts; arrange his farm with order and taste; estimate values at a glance, and cast up accounts without a slate and pencil. He has a fine turned Roman nose of the cleanest and fairest skin; he has a well-shaped ear, rounded, and separate at the bottom from the head; he has brown hair, and dark gray eyes; he has a n.o.ble face and brilliant countenance; he has teeth standing straight, and square and separate, and though they never were brushed, they glisten with the cleanest and smoothest ivory polish; he has a good-sized mouth, not too compressed, like a skin-flint's, nor too open or lax like a fool's. He has a chin, throat, and chest, showing energy of soul and body combined; and if twenty years older, he would do fine honors to a president's chair.

Yonder, in the garden, arranging beds for winter vegetables, and tending a few simple flowers, you behold Julia Fabens, and she has quite outgrown the bend in her good form, which hard work brought on at Mason's, and looks more mature, and hardy; and she is diligent as a parent robin, and rosy and glad as the sweet summer morn.

Wiping the sweat from their frank foreheads and faces, there in the cool, fresh current of air, sit Major Fabens and his venerable wife, come on to this new country to draw freer breath, taste fairer fruit, see greener thrift, and make a good son happy; and they are just returned from a ramble by the lake.

Out near the well curb, toward the green maple on the right, plays our loved little Clinton, the plump and laughing idol of the place; tossing his ball out of sight into that cl.u.s.ter of golden mullens, and then scampering full tilt after the broods of young chickens and turkeys that peep about the door. Clinton is a promising boy, and the worst of it is, he begins to find it out. But everybody likes him. He has most of his father's look, with his mother's force and caution added, he laughs all over his cunning little face; his yellow locks crinkle all over his head; and his hands are so soft, and his neck so fat and clean, you love to catch him to your heart, and hug him, and chuckle beneath his chin, and carry away his sweetest strawberry kisses.

And stretched on the gra.s.s-plat before the door, sleeps the good dog Jowler; s.h.a.ggy and rough as a wolf; yet faithful and kind; resting from a range in the woods, and dreaming of squirrels and c.o.o.ns.

Look around you a little, and tell us where is a handsomer spot! True, it has not the ornament and regularity of an old estate. Handsome buildings, and the smoothest meadow-lands are nowhere to be seen. The stir and strife of a village are not here, nor the signs of ancient opulence, except what Nature boasts; nor the voice of cultivated music.

But walk about, and view the scene.

The woods are arrayed in all their pomp and splendor; the fields have the warmest and richest light to kindle their royal verdures; along the trails, and in every little tract of suns.h.i.+ne, the flowers of the forest hold forth their sweet and modest blooms; and while birds of every wing and song, continue their full concert from twilight to twilight, you may hear, if you listen, the chime of the cheering cowbell, made mellow by the distance, wakening the music of contentment in the heart, tolling the steps of the tripping hours, and sounding the notes of rural bliss.

We set out in company to visit the settlers, and the birds salute us on our way, and the air comes cool and fragrant to our lips. We pause and survey the sugar camp, and a herd of fleet deer caper by, leading a troop of frolicking fawns, and seeming to send back the word, "see our darlings." Casting your eyes aloft to the top of that tall maple, you discover a bee tree, and behold numberless diligent little beings going and coming on the business of a miniature state. Then you hear the chip-squirrels chirrup, and the red squirrels mock; then the hen-hawks chatter and shriek in the air, and the crows caw and clamor; the thrushes and swamp robins bandy their boasts in challenges of music; the blue jay gossips, and the cuckoo cries.