Elsie's Motherhood by Martha Finley

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ELSIE'S MOTHERHOOD

A Sequel to _Elsie's Womanhood_

by

MARTHA FINLEY (FARQUHARSON)

Author of _The Story of Elsie_, _Casella_, _Wanted, a Pedigree_,
_Old-Fashioned Boy_, etc.

1876

"Sweet is the image of the brooding dove!
Holy as heaven a mother's tender love!
The love of many prayers and many tears,
Which changes not with dim declining years--
The only love which, on this teeming earth,
Asks no return for passion's wayward birth."

MRS. NORTON.

PREFACE.

In compliance with the expressed desire of many of Elsie's friends and
admirers, the story of her life is continued in this, the fifth volume
of the series.

When about to undertake its preparation the suggestion was made to the
author that to bring in the doings of the Ku Klux would add interest to
the story, and at the same time give a truer picture of life in the
South during the years 1867-68 in which its events take place.

The published reports of the Congressional Committee of Investigation
were resorted to as the most reliable source of information, diligently
examined, and care taken not to go beyond the facts there given as
regards the proceedings of the Klan, the clemency and paternal acts of
the Government, or the kindly, fraternal feelings and deeds of the
people of the North toward their impoverished and suffering brethren of
the South.

These things have become matters of history: vice and crime should be
condemned wherever found; and naught has been set down in malice; for
the author has a warm love for the South as part and parcel of the dear
land of her birth.

May this child of her brain give pain to none, but prove pleasant and
profitable to all who peruse its pages, and especially helpful to young
parents,

M. F.

Chapter First.

"Meantime a smiling offspring rises round,
And mingles both their graces. By degrees
The human blossom blows, and every day,
Soft as it rolls along, shows some new charm,
The father's lustre, and the mother's bloom."
--Thomson's Seasons

"Mamma! Papa too!" It was a glad shout of a chorus of young voices as
four pairs of little feet came pattering up the avenue and into the
veranda; then as many ruby lips were held up for the morning kiss from
the children's dearly loved father.

They had already had their half hour with mamma, which made so sweet a
beginning of each day, yet she too must have a liberal share of the
eagerly bestowed caresses; while Bruno, a great Newfoundland, the pet,
playfellow, and guardian of the little flock, testified his delight in
the scene by leaping about among them, fawning upon one and another,
wagging his tail, and uttering again and again a short, joyous bark.

Then followed a merry romp, cut short by the ringing of the breakfast
bell, when all trooped into the house, Harold riding on papa's shoulder,
mamma following with Elsie, Eddie and Vi; while Dinah, with Baby Herbert
in her arms; brought up the rear.

The children had been very gay, full of laughter and sweet innocent
prattle, but a sudden hush fell upon them when seated about the table in
the bright, cheerful breakfast parlor; little hands were meekly folded
and each young head bent reverently over the plate, while in a few
simple words which all could understand, their father gave God thanks
for their food and asked his blessing upon it.

The Ion children were never rude even in their play, and their table
manners were almost perfect; made the constant companions of cultivated,
refined parents--whose politeness springing from genuine unselfishness,
was never laid aside, but shown on all occasions and to rich and poor,
old and young alike--and governed with a wise mixture of indulgence and
restraint, mildness and firmness, they imitated the copies set before
them and were seldom other than gentle and amiable in their deportment,
not only toward their superiors, but to equals and inferiors also.

They were never told that "children should be seen and not heard," but
when no guests were present, were allowed to talk in moderation; a
gentle word or look of reproof from papa or mamma being quite
sufficient to check any tendency to boisterousness or undue loquacity.

"I think we should celebrate this anniversary, Elsie," remarked Mr.
Travilla, stirring his coffee and gazing with fond admiration into the
sweet face at the opposite end of the table.

"Yes, sir, though we are rather late in thinking of it," she answered
smilingly, the rose deepening slightly on her cheek as delicately
rounded and tinted as it had been ten years ago.

Little Elsie looked up inquiringly. "What is it, papa? I do not
remember."

"Do you not? Ten years ago to-day there was a grand wedding at the Oaks,
and your mamma and I were there."

"I too?" asked Eddie.

"Yes, course, Eddie," spoke up five year old Violet, "grandpa would
'vite you and all of us; and I b'lieve I 'member a _little_ about it."

"Me too," piped the baby voice of Harold, "me sat on papa's knee."

There was a general laugh, the two little prattlers joining in right
merrily.

"I really don't remember that part of it, Harold," said papa, while wee
Elsie--as she was often called by way of distinguishing her from mamma,
for whom she was named--shook her curly head at him with a merry "Oh,
you dear little rogue, you don't know what you are talking about;" and
mamma remarked, "Vi has perhaps a slight recollection of May Allison's
wedding."

"But this one at the Oaks must have been before I was born," said Elsie,
"because you said it was ten years ago, and I'm only nine. O, mamma, was
it _your_ wedding?"

"Yes, daughter. Shall we invite our friends for this evening, Edward?"

"Yes, wife; suppose we make it a family party, inviting only relatives,
connections and very intimate friends."

After a little more discussion it was decided they would do so; also
that the children should have a full holiday, and while their mother was
giving orders and overseeing the necessary preparations for the
entertainment, papa should take them all in the roomy family carriage
and drive over to the Oaks, Roselands, Ashlands and Pinegrove to give
the invitations. Beside these near friends only the minister and his
wife were to be asked; but as Adelaide and her family were at this time
paying a visit to Roselands, and Lucy Ross was doing the same at her old
home, and all the younger generation except the mere babies, were to be
included in the invitation, should all accept it would be by no means a
small assemblage.

Early hours were named for the sake of the little ones; guests to come
at six, refreshments to be served at eight, and the Ion children, if
each would take a nap in the afternoon, to be allowed to stay up till
nine.

How delighted they were: how the little eyes danced and sparkled, and
how eagerly they engaged to fulfill the conditions, and not to fret or
look cross when summoned at nine, to leave the drawing-room and be put
to bed.

"O, mamma, won't you wear your wedding dress?" cried little Elsie; "do,
dear mamma, so that we may all see just how you looked when you were
married."

Elsie smiled, "You forget, daughter, that I am ten years older now, and
the face cannot be quite the same."

"The years have robbed it of none of its beauty," said Mr. Travilla.

"Ah, love is blind," she returned with a blush and smile as charming as
those of her girlhood's days. "And the dress is quite out of date."

"No matter for that. It would gratify me as well as the children to see
you in it."

"Then it shall be worn, if it fits or can be altered in season."

"Veil and all, mamma," pleaded Elsie, "it is so beautiful--Mammy showed
it to me only the other day and told me you looked so, _so_ lovely; and
she will put the orange blossoms in your hair and on your dress just as
they were that night; for she remembers all about it."

The children, ready dressed for their drive, were gathered in a merry
group on the veranda, Eddie astride of Bruno, waiting for papa and the
carriage, when a horse came cantering up the avenue, and Mr. Horace
Dinsmore alighted and stepped into their midst.

"Oh, grandpa, what you turn for?" cried Harold in a tone of
disappointment, "we was dus doin to 'vite you!"

"Indeed!"

"Yes, grandpa, it's a 'versary to-day" explained Vi.

"And mamma's going to be married over again," said Eddie.

"No, no; only to have a party and wear her wedding dress," corrected
Elsie.

"Papa, good morning," cried their mother, coming swiftly through, the
hall, "I'm so glad, always so glad to see you."

"I know it," he said, pressing a fatherly kiss on the sweet lips, then
holding her off for an instant to gaze fondly into the fair face. "And
it is ten years to-day since I gave Travilla a share in my treasure. I
was thinking of it as I rode over and that you should celebrate this
anniversary at your father's house."

"No, no, Dinsmore, you must be our guest," said Travilla, coming out and
shaking hands cordially with his old friend. "We have it all
arranged,--a family gathering, and Elsie to gratify us by wearing her
bridal robes. Do you not agree with me that she would make as lovely a
bride to-day as she did ten years ago?"

"Quite. I relinquish my plan for yours; and don't let me detain you and
these eager children."

"I thank you: I will go then, as the invitations will be late enough
with all the haste we can make."

The carriage was at the door and in a trice grandpa and papa had helped
the little ones in: not even Baby Herbert was left behind, but seated on
his mammy's lap crowed and laughed as merrily as the rest.

"Ah, mamma, you come too!" pleaded the little voices, as their father
took his place beside them. "Can't mammy and Aunt Dicey and the rest
know what to do without you to tell them?"

"Not this time, dears; and you know I must make haste to try on the
dress, to see if it fits."

"Oh, yes, mamma!" and throwing a shower of kisses, they drove off.

"A carriage load of precious jewels," Elsie said, looking after it as it
rolled away: "how the ten years have added to my wealth, papa."

She stood by his side, her hand on his arm, and the soft sweet eyes
lifted to his were full of a content and gladness beyond the power of
words to express.

"I thank God every day for my darling's happiness," he said low and
tenderly, and softly smoothing her shining hair.

"Ah, it is very great, and my father's dear love forms no small part of
it. But come in, papa, I want to consult you about one or two little
matters; Edward and I rely very much upon your taste and judgment."

"To Roselands first," was Mr. Travilla's order to the coachman.

The old home of the Dinsmores, though shorn of the glory of its grand
old trees, was again a beautiful place: the new house was in every
respect a finer one than its predecessor, of a higher style of
architecture, more conveniently arranged, more tastefully and handsomely
furnished; lawns, gardens and fields had become neat and trim as in the
days before the war, and a double row of young, thrifty trees bordered
the avenue.

Old Mr. Dinsmore now resided there and gave a home to his two widowed
and impoverished daughters--Mrs. Louise Conly, and Mrs. Enna
Johnson--and their families.

These two aunts loved Elsie no better than in earlier years: it was gall
and wormwood to them to know that they owed all these comforts to her
generosity; nor could they forgive her that she was more wealthy,
beautiful, lovely and beloved than themselves. Enna was the more bitter
and outspoken of the two, but even Louise seldom treated her niece to
anything better than the most distant and frigid politeness.

In a truly Christian spirit Elsie returned them pity and compassion,
because of their widowhood and straitened circumstances, invited them to
her house, and when they came received them with kindness and
cordiality.

Her grandfather had grown very fond of her and her children, was often
at Ion, and for his sake she occasionally visited Roselands. Adelaide's
presence had drawn her there more frequently of late. The invitation Mr.
Travilla carried was to the grandfather, three aunts and all their
children.

Adelaide and Enna were in the drawing-room when the Ion carriage drew up
at the door.

"There's Travilla, the old scalawag: how I hate him! Elsie too, I
presume," exclaimed the latter, glancing from the window; "I'll leave
you to entertain them," and she hastily left the room.

Adelaide flashed an indignant look after her, and hurried out to meet
and welcome the callers. Mr. Travilla had alighted and was coming up the
steps of the veranda.

"How d'ye do. I'm _very_ glad to see you," cried Adelaide, extending her
hand, "but where is Elsie?"

"Left at home for once," he answered gayly, "but I come this morning
merely as her ladyship's messenger."

"But won't you come in; you and the children?"

"Thanks, no, if you will permit me just to deliver my message and go;
for I am in haste."

Mrs. Allison accepted the invitation for herself and children with
evident pleasure, engaged that her sisters would do the same; then went
to the carriage window for a moment's chat with the little ones, each of
whom held a large place in her warm heart. "Aunt Addie," said Elsie in
an undertone, "mamma's going to wear her wedding dress to-night, veil
and all."

"Is she? why that's an excellent idea. But don't tell it anywhere else
that you go; it will be such a nice surprise to the rest if we can keep
it a secret."

"That was a good suggestion of Aunt Addie's," Mr. Travilla remarked as
they drove down the avenue. "Suppose we carry it out. How many of you
can refrain from telling what mamma is to wear to-night? how many can I
trust to keep a secret?"

"All of us, papa!" "Me, papa, me, I won't tell," cried the little voices
in chorus.

"Yes, I believe I can trust you all," he answered in his bright cheery
way. "Now on to the Oaks, Solon, then to Pinegrove, Springbrook, and
Ashlands. That will be the last place, children, and as our hurry will
then be over, you shall get out of the carriage and have a little time
to rest before we start for home."

Re-entering the house Mrs. Allison went to the family sitting-room where
she found both her sisters and several of the younger members of the
household. "So they have asked for us?" exclaimed Louise in a tone of
vexation, "at such an unreasonable hour too. Well," with a sigh of
resignation, "I suppose we must show ourselves or papa will be
displeased: so wonderfully fond of Elsie as he has grown of late."

"As well he may," returned Adelaide pointedly; "but Elsie is not here
nor has any one inquired for you."

"No, I presume not," interrupted Enna with a sneer, "we are not worth
inquiring for."

Indignation kept Adelaide silent for a moment, she was sorely tempted to
administer a severe and cutting rebuke. But Enna was no longer a child,
and controlling herself she calmly delivered Mr. Travilla's message.

"Oh, delightful! Cousin Elsie always does give such splendid parties,
such elegant refreshments!" cried Virginia and Isadore Conly, girls of
ten and twelve, "mamma, you'll never think of declining?"

"No, your grandfather wouldn't like it," said Louise, as anxious as her
daughters to enjoy the entertainment, yet glad to save her pride, by
putting her acceptance on the score of pleasing her father.

"And you'll go too, and take us, mamma, won't you?" anxiously queried
Molly Percival, who was between her cousins in age.

"Of course I'll go; we all want our share of the good things, and the
pleasure of seeing and being seen," answered Enna, scorning Louise's
subterfuge; "and if you and Dick will promise to make me no trouble,
I'll take you along. But Bob and Betty may stay at home, I'm not going
to be bothered with them,--babies of five and three. But what shall we
wear, Lu? I do say it's real mean in them to give us so short a notice.
But of course Elsie enjoys making me feel my changed circumstances. I've
no such stock of jewels, silks and laces as she, nor the full purse that
makes it an easy matter for her to order a fresh supply at a moment's
warning."

"You have all, and more than the occasion calls for," remarked Adelaide
quietly; "it is to be only a family gathering."

Chapter Second.

"Though fools spurn Hymen's gentle powers,
We, who improve his golden hours,
By sweet experience know
That marriage, rightly understood,
Gives to the tender and the good
A paradise below."
--Cotton

Mr. Allison had fully kept his promise to Sophie, and Ashlands was again
the fine old place it had been prior to the war. The family, consisting
of the elder Mrs. Carrington, a young man, named George Boyd, a nephew
of hers who had taken charge of the plantation, Sophie and her four
children, had now been in possession for over a year.

Sophie, still an almost inconsolable mourner for the husband of her
youth, lived a very retired life, devoting herself to his mother and his
orphaned little ones.

Mrs. Ross, expecting to spend the fall and winter with them, had brought
all her children and a governess, Miss Fisk, who undertook the tuition
of the little Carringtons also during her stay at Ashlands, thus leaving
the mothers more at liberty for the enjoyment of each other's society.

It was in the midst of school-hours that the Ion carriage came driving
up the avenue, and Philip Ross, lifting his head from the slate over
which he had been bending for the last half hour, rose hastily, threw
down his pencil and hurried from the room, paying no attention to Miss
Fisk's query, "Where are you going, Philip?" or her command, "Come back
instantly: it is quite contrary to rules for pupils to leave the
school-room during the hours of recitation, without permission." Indeed
he had reached the foot of the staircase before the last word had left
her lips; she being very slow and precise in speech and action, while
his movements were of the quickest.

"What now is to be done in this emergency?" soliloquized the governess,
unconsciously thinking aloud. "Miss Gertrude Ross," turning to a girl
of nine whose merry blue eyes were twinkling with fun, "follow your
brother at once and inform him that I cannot permit any such act of
insubordination; and he must return instantly to the performance of his
duties."

"Yes ma'am," and Gertrude vanished; glad enough of the opportunity to
see for herself who were the new arrivals. "Phil," she said, entering
the drawing-room where the guests were already seated, "Miss Fisk says
you're an insubordination and must come back instantly."

"Gertude," said her mother, laughing "come and speak to Mr. Travilla and
your little friends. Why yes, Phil, to be sure; how came you here when
you ought to be at your lessons?"

"Because I wanted to see Elsie Travilla," he answered nonchalantly.

"Yes, but you should have asked for permission. I ought to send you
back."

"But you won't, ma, you know that as well as I do. I'll not go back a
step while Elsie stays."

"Well, well, it seems you are bound to have your own way, as usual,"
Lucy answered, half laughing, half sighing, then resumed her talk with
Mr. Travilla.

Seeing that the little Travillas had listened to this colloquy in blank
amazement, she felt much mortified at Phil's behavior, and on receiving
the invitation threatened to leave him at home as a punishment. But this
only made matters worse: he insisted that go he would, and if she
refused permission he should never, never love her again as long as he
lived. And she weakly yielded.

"Lucy," said her mother, when the guests were gone, and the children had
left the room, "you are ruining that boy."

"Well, I don't see how I can help it, mamma how could I bear to lose his
affection?"

"You are taking the very course to bring that about; it is the weakly
indulged, not the wisely controlled, children who lose, first respect,
and then affection for their parents. Look at Elsie's little family for
instance; where can you find children ruled with a firmer hand, or more
devotedly attached to their parents?"

Eddie was at that moment saying to his father, "Papa, isn't Phil Ross a
very, _very_ naughty boy, to be so saucy and disobedient to his mamma?"

"My son," answered Mr. Travilla with gentle gravity, "when you have
corrected all Eddie Travilla's faults it will be time enough to attend
to those of others." And the child hung his head and blushed for shame.

It was Mr. and Mrs. Horace Dinsmore who did the honors at Ion early in
the evening, receiving and welcoming each bevy of guests, and replying
to the oft repeated inquiry for the master and mistress of the
establishment, that they would make their appearance shortly.

Elsie's children, most sweetly and becomingly dressed, had gathered
about "Aunt Rosie," in a corner of the drawing-room, and seemed to be
waiting with a sort of intense but quiet eagerness for the coming of
some expected event.

At length every invited guest had arrived. All being so thoroughly
acquainted, nearly all related, there was an entire absence of stiffness
and constraint, and much lively chat had been carried on; but a sudden
hush fell upon them, and every eye turned toward the doors opening into
the hall, expecting--they knew not what.

There were soft foot-falls, a slight rustle of silk, and Adelaide
entered followed by Mr. Travilla with Elsie on his arm, in bridal
attire. The shimmering satin, rich, soft lace and orange blossoms became
her well; and never, even on that memorable night ten years ago, had she
looked lovelier or more bride-like; never had her husband bent a
prouder, fonder look upon her fair face than now as he led her to the
centre of the room, where they paused in front of their pastor.

A low murmur of surprise and delight ran round the room, but was
suddenly stilled, as the venerable man rose and began to speak.

"Ten years ago to-night, dear friends, I united you in marriage. Edward
Travilla, you then vowed to love, honor and cherish till life's end the
woman whom you now hold by the hand. Have you repented of that vow? and
would you be released?"

"Not for worlds: there has been no repentance, but my love has grown
deeper and stronger day by day."

"And you, Elsie Dinsmore Travilla, also vowed to love, honor and obey
the man you hold by the hand. Have you repented?"

"Never, sir; never for one moment." The accents were low, sweet, clear,
and full of pleasure.

"I pronounce you a faithful man and wife: and may God, in his good
providence, grant you many returns of this happy anniversary."

Old Mr. Dinsmore stepped up, kissed the bride and shook hands with the
groom. "Blessings on you for making her so happy," he said in quivering
tones.

His son followed, then the others in their turn, and a merry scene
ensued.

"Mamma, it was so pretty, _so_ pretty," little Elsie said, clasping her
arms about her mother's neck, "and now I just feel as if I'd been to
your wedding. Thank you, dear mamma and papa."

"Mamma, you are so beautiful, I'll just marry you myself, when I'm a
man," remarked Eddie, giving her a hearty kiss, then gazing into her
face with his great dark eyes full of love and admiration.

"I too," chimed in Violet. "No, no, I forget, I shall be a lady myself:
so I'll have to marry papa."

"No, Vi, oo tan't have my papa; he's dus' my papa always," objected
Harold, climbing his father's knee.

"What a splendid idea, Elsie," Lucy Ross was saying to her friend, "you
have made me regret, for the first time, not having kept my wedding
dress; for I believe my Phil and I could go through that catechism
quite as well as you and Mr. Travilla. The whole thing, I suppose, was
quite original?"

"Among us: my namesake daughter proposed the wearing of the dress: and
the ceremony," turning to the minister, "was your idea, Mr. Wood, was it
not?"

"Partly, Mrs. Travilla; your father, Mrs. Dinsmore, and I planned it
together."

"Your dress is as perfect a fit as when made, but I presume you had it
altered," observed Lucy, making a critical examination of her friend's
toilet.

"No, not in the least," answered Elsie, smiling.

The banquet to which the guests were presently summoned, though gotten
up so hastily, more than fulfilled the expectation of the Misses Conly,
who as well as their mother and Aunt Enna did it ample justice; there
was a good deal of gormandizing done by the spoiled children present,
spite of feeble protests from their parents; but Elsie's well trained
little ones ate contentedly what was given them, nor even asked for the
rich dainties on which others were feasting; knowing that papa and mamma
loved them too dearly to deny them any real good.

"Holloa, Neddie and Vi, why you've been overlooked!" said Philip Ross,
coming toward the two little ones with a plate heaped up with rich
viands, "you've nothing but ice cream and plain sugar biscuit; here,
take some of this pound cake and these bonbons. They're delicious, I
tell you!"

"No, no, thank you: mamma says pound cake is much too rich for us, and
would make us sick," said Eddie.

"'Specially at night," added Vi, "and we're to have some bonbons
to-morrow."

"Goodest little tots ever I saw," returned Philip laughing. "Ma wanted
me to let 'em alone, but I told her I'd risk the getting sick," he added
with a pompous grown-up air.

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