Clover by Susan Coolidge

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 15798-h.htm or 15798-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/5/7/9/15798/15798-h/15798-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/5/7/9/15798/15798-h.zip)

CLOVER

by

SUSAN COOLIDGE

Author of "What Katy Did," "Mischief's Thanksgiving,"
"Nine Little Goslings," etc.

Illustrated by JESSIE McDERMOT

Boston
Little, Brown, and Company
Alfred Mudge & Son, Inc., Printers,
Boston, Mass., U.S.A.

1907

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. A TALK ON THE DOORSTEPS

II. THE DAY OF HAPPY LETTERS

III. THE FIRST WEDDING IN THE FAMILY

IV. TWO LONG YEARS IN ONE SHORT CHAPTER

V. CAR FORTY-SEVEN

VI. ST. HELEN'S

VII. MAKING ACQUAINTANCE

VIII. HIGH VALLEY

IX. OVER A PASS

X. NO. 13 PIUTE STREET

XI. THE LAST OF THE CLOVER-LEAVES

CHAPTER I.

A TALK ON THE DOORSTEPS.

It was one of those afternoons in late April which are as mild and balmy
as any June day. The air was full of the chirps and twitters of
nest-building birds, and of sweet indefinable odors from half-developed
leaf-buds and cherry and pear blossoms. The wisterias overhead were
thickly starred with pointed pearl-colored sacs, growing purpler with each
hour, which would be flowers before long; the hedges were quickening into
life, the long pensile willow-boughs and the honey-locusts hung in a mist
of fine green against the sky, and delicious smells came with every puff
of wind from the bed of white violets under the parlor windows.

Katy and Clover Carr, sitting with their sewing on the door-steps, drew in
with every breath the sense of spring. Who does not know the
delightfulness of that first sitting out of doors after a long winter's
confinement? It seems like flinging the gauntlet down to the powers of
cold. Hope and renovation are in the air. Life has conquered Death, and to
the happy hearts in love with life there is joy in the victory. The two
sisters talked busily as they sewed, but all the time an only
half-conscious rapture informed their senses,--the sympathy of that which
is immortal in human souls with the resurrection of natural things, which
is the sure pledge of immortality.

It was nearly a year since Katy had come back from that too brief journey
to Europe with Mrs. Ashe and Amy, about which some of you have read, and
many things of interest to the Carr family had happened during the
interval. The "Natchitoches" had duly arrived in New York in October, and
presently afterward Burnet was convulsed by the appearance of a tall young
fellow in naval uniform, and the announcement of Katy's engagement to
Lieutenant Worthington.

It was a piece of news which interested everybody in the little town, for
Dr. Carr was a universal friend and favorite. For a time he had been the
only physician in the place; and though with the gradual growth of
population two or three younger men had appeared to dispute the ground
with him, they were forced for the most part to content themselves with
doctoring the new arrivals, and with such fragments and leavings of
practice as Dr. Carr chose to intrust to them. None of the old established
families would consent to call in any one else if they could possibly get
the "old" doctor.

A skilful practitioner, who is at the same time a wise adviser, a helpful
friend, and an agreeable man, must necessarily command a wide influence.
Dr. Carr was "by all odds and far away," as our English cousins would
express it, the most popular person in Burnet, wanted for all pleasant
occasions, and doubly wanted for all painful ones.

So the news of Katy's engagement was made a matter of personal concern by
a great many people, and caused a general stir, partly because she was her
father's daughter, and partly because she was herself; for Katy had won
many friends by her own merit. So long as Ned Worthington stayed, a sort
of tide of congratulation and sympathy seemed to sweep through the house
all day long. Tea-roses and chrysanthemums, and baskets of pears and the
beautiful Burnet grapes flooded the premises, and the door-bell rang so
often that Clover threatened to leave the door open, with a card
attached,--"Walk straight in. _He_ is in the parlor!"

Everybody wanted to see and know Katy's lover, and to have him as a guest.
Ten tea-drinkings a week would scarcely have contented Katy's
well-wishers, had the limitations of mortal weeks permitted such a thing;
and not a can of oysters would have been left in the place if Lieutenant
Worthington's leave had lasted three days longer. Clover and Elsie loudly
complained that they themselves never had a chance to see him; for
whenever he was not driving or walking with Katy, or having long
_tete-a-tetes_ in the library, he was eating muffins somewhere, or making
calls on old ladies whose feelings would be dreadfully hurt if he went
away without their seeing him.

"Sisters seem to come off worst of all," protested Johnnie. But in spite
of their lamentations they all saw enough of their future brother-in-law
to grow fond of him; and notwithstanding some natural pangs of jealousy at
having to share Katy with an outsider, it was a happy visit, and every one
was sorry when the leave of absence ended, and Ned had to go away.

A month later the "Natchitoches" sailed for the Bahamas. It was to be a
six months' cruise only; and on her return she was for a while to make
part of the home squadron. This furnished a good opportunity for her
first lieutenant to marry; so it was agreed that the wedding should take
place in June, and Katy set about her preparations in the leisurely and
simple fashion which was characteristic of her. She had no ambition for a
great _trousseau_, and desired to save her father expense; so her outfit,
as compared with that of most modern brides, was a very moderate one, but
being planned and mostly made at home, it necessarily involved thought,
time, and a good deal of personal exertion.

Dear little Clover flung herself into the affair with even more interest
than if it had been her own. Many happy mornings that winter did the
sisters spend together over their dainty stitches and "white seam." Elsie
and Johnnie were good needle-women now, and could help in many ways. Mrs.
Ashe often joined them; even Amy could contribute aid in the plainer
sewing, and thread everybody's needles. But the most daring and
indefatigable of all was Clover, who never swerved in her determination
that Katy's "things" should be as nice and as pretty as love and industry
combined could make them. Her ideas as to decoration soared far beyond
Katy's. She hem-stitched, she cat-stitched, she feather-stitched, she
lace-stitched, she tucked and frilled and embroidered, and generally
worked her fingers off; while the bride vainly protested that all this
finery was quite unnecessary, and that simple hems and a little Hamburg
edging would answer just as well. Clover merely repeated the words,
"Hamburg edging!" with an accent of scorn, and went straight on in her
elected way.

As each article received its last touch, and came from the laundry white
and immaculate, it was folded to perfection, tied with a narrow blue or
pale rose-colored ribbon, and laid aside in a sacred receptacle known as
"The Wedding Bureau." The handkerchiefs, grouped in dozens, were strewn
with dried violets and rose-leaves to make them sweet. Lavender-bags and
sachets of orris lay among the linen; and perfumes as of Araby were
discernible whenever a drawer in the bureau was pulled out.

So the winter passed, and now spring was come; and the two girls on the
doorsteps were talking about the wedding, which seemed very near now.

"Tell me just what sort of an affair you want it to be," said Clover.

"It seems more your wedding than mine, you have worked so hard for it,"
replied Katy. "You might give your ideas first."

"My ideas are not very distinct. It's only lately that I have begun to
think about it at all, there has been so much to do. I'd like to have you
have a beautiful dress and a great many wedding-presents and everything as
pretty as can be, but not so many bridesmaids as Cecy, because there is
always such a fuss in getting them nicely up the aisle in church and out
again,--that is as far as I've got. But so long as you are pleased, and it
goes off well, I don't care exactly how it is managed."

"Then, since you are in such an accommodating frame of mind, it seems a
good time to break my views to you. Don't be shocked, Clovy; but, do you
know, I don't want to be married in church at all, or to have any
bridesmaids, or anything arranged for beforehand particularly. I should
like things to be simple, and to just _happen_."

"But, Katy, you can't do it like that. It will all get into a snarl if
there is no planning beforehand or rehearsals; it would be confused and
horrid."

"I don't see why it would be confused if there were nothing to confuse.
Please not be vexed; but I always have hated the ordinary kind of wedding,
with its fuss and worry and so much of everything, and just like all the
other weddings, and the bride looking tired to death, and nobody enjoying
it a bit. I'd like mine to be different, and more--more--real. I don't
want any show or processing about, but just to have things nice and
pretty, and all the people I love and who love me to come to it, and
nothing cut and dried, and nobody tired, and to make it a sort of dear,
loving occasion, with leisure to realize how dear it is and what it all
means. Don't you think it would really be nicer in that way?"

"Well, yes, as you put it, and 'viewed from the higher standard,' as Miss
Inches would say, perhaps it would. Still, bridesmaids and all that are
very pretty to look at; and folks will be surprised if you don't have
them."

"Never mind folks," remarked the irreverent Katy. "I don't care a button
for that argument. Yes; bridesmaids and going up the aisle in a long
procession and all the rest _are_ pretty to look at,--or were before they
got to be so hackneyed. I can imagine the first bridal procession up the
aisle of some early cathedral as having been perfectly beautiful. But
nowadays, when the butcher and baker and candlestick-maker and everybody
else do it just alike, the custom seems to me to have lost its charm. I
never did enjoy having things exactly as every one else has them,--all
going in the same direction like a flock of sheep. I would like my little
wedding to be something especially my own. There was a poetical meaning in
those old customs; but now that the custom has swallowed up so much of
the meaning, it would please me better to retain the meaning and drop the
custom."

"I see what you mean," said Clover, not quite convinced, but inclined as
usual to admire Katy and think that whatever she meant must be right. "But
tell me a little more. You mean to have a wedding-dress, don't you?"
doubtfully.

"Yes, indeed!"

"Have you thought what it shall be?"

"Do you recollect that beautiful white crape shawl of mamma's which papa
gave me two years ago? It has a lovely wreath of embroidery round it; and
it came to me the other day that it would make a charming gown, with white
surah or something for the under-dress. I should like that better than
anything new, because mamma used to wear it, and it would seem as if she
were here still, helping me to get ready. Don't you think so?"

"It is a lovely idea," said Clover, the ever-ready tears dimming her happy
blue eyes for a moment, "and just like you. Yes, that shall be the
dress,--dear mamma's shawl. It will please papa too, I think, to have you
choose it."

"I thought perhaps it would," said Katy, soberly. "Then I have a wide
white watered sash which Aunt Izzy gave me, and I mean to have that worked
into the dress somehow. I should like to wear something of hers too, for
she was really good to us when we were little, and all that long time that
I was ill; and we were not always good to her, I am afraid. Poor Aunt
Izzy! What troublesome little wretches we were,--I most of all!"

"Were you? Somehow I never can recollect the time when you were not a born
angel. I am afraid I don't remember Aunt Izzy well. I just have a vague
memory of somebody who was pretty strict and cross."

"Ah, you never had a back, and needed to be waited on night and day, or
you would recollect a great deal more than that. Cousin Helen helped me to
appreciate what Aunt Izzy really was. By the way, one of the two things I
have set my heart on is to have Cousin Helen come to my wedding."

"It would be lovely if she could. Do you suppose there is any chance?"

"I wrote her week before last, but she hasn't answered yet. Of course it
depends on how she is; but the accounts from her have been pretty good
this year."

"What is the other thing you have set your heart on? You said 'two.'"

"The other is that Rose Red shall be here, and little Rose. I wrote to her
the other day also, and coaxed hard. Wouldn't it be too enchanting? You
know how we have always longed to have her in Burnet; and if she could
come now it would make everything twice as pleasant."

"Katy, what an enchanting thought!" cried Clover, who had not seen Rose
since they all left Hillsover. "It would be the greatest lark that ever
was to have the Roses. When do you suppose we shall hear? I can hardly
wait, I am in such a hurry to have her say 'Yes.'"

"But suppose she says 'No'?"

"I won't think of such a possibility. Now go on. I suppose your principles
don't preclude a wedding-cake?"

"On the contrary, they include a great deal of wedding-cake. I want to
send a box to everybody in Burnet,--all the poor people, I mean, and the
old people and the children at the Home and those forlorn creatures at the
poor-house and all papa's patients."

"But, Katy, that will cost a lot," objected the thrifty Clover.

"I know it; so we must do it in the cheapest way, and make the cake
ourselves. I have Aunt Izzy's recipe, which is a very good one; and if we
all take hold, it won't be such an immense piece of work. Debby has
quantities of raisins stoned already. She has been doing them in the
evenings a few at a time for the last month. Mrs. Ashe knows a factory
where you can get the little white boxes for ten dollars a thousand, and I
have commissioned her to send for five hundred."

"Five hundred! What an immense quantity!"

"Yes; but there are all the Hillsover girls to be remembered, and all our
kith and kin, and everybody at the wedding will want one. I don't think it
will be too many. Oh, I have arranged it all in my mind. Johnnie will
slice the citron, Elsie will wash the currants, Debby measure and bake,
Alexander mix, you and I will attend to the icing, and all of us will cut
it up."

"Alexander!"

"Alexander. He is quite pleased with the idea, and has constructed an
implement--a sort of spade, cut out of new pine wood--for the purpose. He
says it will be a sight easier than digging flower-beds. We will set about
it next week; for the cake improves by keeping, and as it is the heaviest
job we have to do, it will be well to get it out of the way early."

"Sha'n't you have a floral bell, or a bower to stand in, or something of
that kind?" ventured Clover, timidly.

"Indeed I shall not," replied Katy. "I particularly dislike floral bells
and bowers. They are next worst to anchors and harps and 'floral pillows'
and all the rest of the dreadful things that they have at funerals. No, we
will have plenty of fresh flowers, but not in stiff arrangements. I want
it all to seem easy and to _be_ easy. Don't look so disgusted, Clovy."

"Oh, I'm not disgusted. It's your wedding. I want you to have everything
in your own way."

"It's everybody's wedding, I think," said Katy, tenderly. "Everybody is so
kind about it. Did you see the thing that Polly sent this morning?"

"No. It must have come after I went out. What was it?"

"Seven yards of beautiful nun's lace which she bought in Florence. She
says it is to trim a morning dress; but it's really too pretty. How dear
Polly is! She sends me something almost every day. I seem to be in her
thoughts all the time. It is because she loves Ned so much, of course;
but it is just as kind of her."

"I think she loves you almost as much as Ned," said Clover.

"Oh, she couldn't do that; Ned is her only brother. There is Amy at the
gate now."

It was a much taller Amy than had come home from Italy the year before who
was walking toward them under the budding locust-boughs. Roman fever had
seemed to quicken and stimulate all Amy's powers, and she had grown very
fast during the past year. Her face was as frank and childlike as ever,
and her eyes as blue; but she was prettier than when she went to Europe,
for her cheeks were pink, and the mane of waving hair which framed them in
was very becoming. The hair was just long enough now to touch her
shoulders; it was turning brown as it lengthened, but the ends of the
locks still shone with childish gold, and caught the sun in little shining
rings as it filtered down through the tree branches.

She kissed Clover several times, and gave Katy a long, close hug; then
she produced a parcel daintily hid in silver paper.

"Tanta," she said,--this was a pet name lately invented for Katy,--"here
is something for you from mamma. It's something quite particular, I think,
for mamma cried when she was writing the note; not a hard cry, you know,
but just two little teeny-weeny tears in her eyes. She kept smiling,
though, and she looked happy, so I guess it isn't anything very bad. She
said I was to give it to you with her best, _best_ love."

Katy opened the parcel, and beheld a square veil of beautiful old blonde.
The note said:

This was my wedding-veil, dearest Katy, and my mother wore it
before me. It has been laid aside all these years with the idea
that perhaps Amy might want it some day; but instead I send it
to you, without whom there would be no Amy to wear this or
anything else. I think it would please Ned to see it on your
head, and I know it would make me very happy; but if you don't
feel like using it, don't mind for a moment saying so to

Your loving
POLLY.

[Illustration: "Katy opened the parcel, and beheld a square veil of
beautiful old blonde."]

Katy handed the note silently to Clover, and laid her face for a little
while among the soft folds of the lace, about which a faint odor of roses
hung like the breath of old-time and unforgotten loves and affections.

"Shall you?" queried Clover, softly.

"Why, of course! Doesn't it seem too sweet? Both our mothers!"

"There!" cried Amy, "you are going to cry too, Tanta! I thought weddings
were nice funny things. I never supposed they made people feel badly. I
sha'n't ever let Mabel get married, I think. But she'll have to stay a
little girl always in that case, for I certainly won't have her an old
maid."

"What do you know about old maids, midget?" asked Clover.

"Why, Miss Clover, I have seen lots of them. There was that one at the
Pension Suisse; you remember, Tanta? And the two on the steamer when we
came home. And there's Miss Fitz who made my blue frock; Ellen said she
was a regular old maid. I never mean to let Mabel be like that."

"I don't think there's the least danger," remarked Katy, glancing at the
inseparable Mabel, who was perched on Amy's arm, and who did not look a
day older than she had done eighteen months previously. "Amy, we're going
to make wedding-cake next week,--heaps and heaps of wedding-cake. Don't
you want to come and help?"

"Why, of course I do. What fun! Which day may I come?"

The cake-making did really turn out fun. Many hands made light work of
what would have been a formidable job for one or two. It was all done
gradually. Johnnie cut the golden citron quarters into thin transparent
slices in the sitting-room one morning while the others were sewing, and
reading Tennyson aloud. Elsie and Amy made a regular frolic of the
currant-washing. Katy, with Debby's assistance, weighed and measured; and
the mixture was enthusiastically stirred by Alexander, with the "spade"
which he had invented, in a large new wash-tub. Then came the baking,
which for two days filled the house with spicy, plum-puddingy odors; then
the great feat of icing the big square loaves; and then the cutting up, in
which all took part. There was much careful measurement that the slices
might be an exact fit; and the kitchen rang with bright laughter and chat
as Katy and Clover wielded the sharp bread-knives, and the others fitted
the portions into their boxes, and tied the ribbons in crisp little bows.
Many delicious crumbs and odd corners and fragments fell to the share of
the younger workers; and altogether the occasion struck Amy as so
enjoyable that she announced--with her mouth full--that she had changed
her mind, and that Mabel might get married as often as she pleased, if she
would have cake like _that_ every time,--a liberality of permission which
Mabel listened to with her invariable waxen smile.

When all was over, and the last ribbons tied, the hundreds of little boxes
were stacked in careful piles on a shelf of the inner closet of the
doctor's office to wait till they were wanted,--an arrangement which
naughty Clover pronounced eminently suitable, since there should always
be a doctor close at hand where there was so much wedding-cake. But before
all this was accomplished, came what Katy, in imitation of one of Miss
Edgeworth's heroines, called "The Day of Happy Letters."

CHAPTER II.

THE DAY OF HAPPY LETTERS.

The arrival of the morning boat with letters and newspapers from the East
was the great event of the day in Burnet. It was due at eleven o'clock;
and everybody, consciously or unconsciously, was on the lookout for it.
The gentlemen were at the office bright and early, and stood chatting with
each other, and fingering the keys of their little drawers till the rattle
of the shutter announced that the mail was distributed. Their wives and
daughters at home, meanwhile, were equally in a state of expectation, and
whatever they might be doing kept ears and eyes on the alert for the step
on the gravel and the click of the latch which betokened the arrival of
the family news-bringer.

Doctors cannot command their time like other people, and Dr. Carr was
often detained by his patients, and made late for the mail, so it was all
the pleasanter a surprise when on the great day of the cake-baking he came
in earlier than usual, with his hands quite full of letters and parcels.
All the girls made a rush for him at once; but he fended them off with an
elbow, while with teasing slowness he read the addresses on the envelopes.

"Miss Carr--Miss Carr--Miss Katherine Carr--Miss Carr again; four for you,
Katy. Dr. P. Carr,--a bill and a newspaper, I perceive; all that an old
country doctor with a daughter about to be married ought to expect, I
suppose. Miss Clover E. Carr,--one for the 'Confidante in white linen.'
Here, take it, Clovy. Miss Carr again. Katy, you have the lion's share.
Miss Joanna Carr,--in the unmistakable handwriting of Miss Inches. Miss
Katherine Carr, care Dr. Carr. That looks like a wedding present, Katy.
Miss Elsie Carr; Cecy's hand, I should say. Miss Carr once more,--from the
conquering hero, judging from the post-mark. Dr. Carr,--another
newspaper, and--hollo!--one more for Miss Carr. Well, children, I hope for
once you are satisfied with the amount of your correspondence. My arm
fairly aches with the weight of it. I hope the letters are not so heavy
inside as out."

"I am quite satisfied, Papa, thank you," said Katy, looking up with a
happy smile from Ned's letter, which she had torn open first of all. "Are
you going, dear?" She laid her packages down to help him on with his coat.
Katy never forgot her father.

"Yes, I am going. Time and rheumatism wait for no man. You can tell me
your news when I come back."

It is not fair to peep into love letters, so I will only say of Ned's that
it was very long, very entertaining,--Katy thought,--and contained the
pleasant information that the "Natchitoches" was to sail four days after
it was posted, and would reach New York a week sooner than any one had
dared to hope. The letter contained several other things as well, which
showed Katy how continually she had been in his thoughts,--a painting on
rice paper, a dried flower or two, a couple of little pen-and-ink sketches
of the harbor of Santa Lucia and the shipping, and a small cravat of an
odd convent lace folded very flat and smooth. Altogether it was a
delightful letter, and Katy read it, as it were, in leaps, her eyes
catching at the salient points, and leaving the details to be dwelt upon
when she should be alone.

This done, she thrust the letter into her pocket, and proceeded to examine
the others. The first was in Cousin Helen's clear, beautiful
handwriting:--

DEAR KATY,--If any one had told us ten years ago that in this
particular year of grace you would be getting ready to be
married, and I preparing to come to your wedding, I think we
should have listened with some incredulity, as to an agreeable
fairy tale which could not possibly come true. We didn't look
much like it, did we,--you in your big chair and I on my sofa?
Yet here we are! When your letter first reached me it seemed a
sort of impossible thing that I should accept your invitation;
but the more I thought about it the more I felt as if I must,
and now things seem to be working round to that end quite
marvellously. I have had a good winter, but the doctor wishes me
to try the experiment of the water cure again which benefited me
so much the summer of your accident. This brings me in your
direction; and I don't see why I might not come a little earlier
than I otherwise should, and have the great pleasure of seeing
you married, and making acquaintance with Lieutenant
Worthington. That is, if you are perfectly sure that to have at
so busy a time a guest who, like the Queen of Spain, has the
disadvantage of being without legs, will not be more care than
enjoyment. Think seriously over this point, and don't send for
me unless you are certain. Meanwhile, I am making ready. Alex
and Emma and little Helen--who is a pretty big Helen now--are to
be my escorts as far as Buffalo on their way to Niagara. After
that is all plain sailing, and Jane Carter and I can manage very
well for ourselves. It seems like a dream to think that I may
see you all so soon; but it is such a pleasant one that I would
not wake up on any account.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12