A Bloodsmoor Romance (13 page)

“Malvinia, you are extreme,” Samantha feebly protested. “You are mistaken; and very cruel.”

“And
you
are a silly little chit,” Malvinia said.

Whereupon Constance Philippa, as the eldest, irritably interposed: and bade them both be still, for her head ached most violently, and she feared she might run mad, for all this
female chatter
and
female quarreling
and
female nonsense.

So the four sisters sat in the gazebo, fanning themselves, their veiled faces o'erheated, and their hearts sullenly beating, with emotions not entirely sisterly, at this time.

Samantha silently concurred with Constance Philippa, for such scenes, occurring from time to time amongst the Zinn girls (particularly when no elders were near), struck her as both ignoble and unnecessary; and distracting from serious thought. Gossip, and idle words, and contentious exchanges, and tears, and injur'd feelings, and cruel laughter, and jeering smiles; and forgiving, and embracing, and more copious weeping; and so the days, and the years, passed.

Samantha's pale green gaze followed after Deirdre, and unbeknownst to herself she loudly sighed, and snapped her fan shut, the while thinking, I wish—ah, how I wish!—I know not
what.

From the point in time, in which this history of the Zinns is transcribed, it is difficult for me to say, with certainty, which of the young ladies, after Deirdre, presented Mrs. Zinn with the most worrisome thoughts: yet I believe it to have been Samantha, who, tho' small-boned, and delicate of features, and, with her luxuriant red hair, fairylike to the eye, nonetheless experienced grave difficulties, in comporting herself with grace, in social situations.

Malvinia said of her, to the others: “How is it that Samantha's skin is so milky-pale, and smooth, I much prefer it to my own; and her upturned nose, so delightful; and her eyes that cold piercing green; and her hair, ah!—that ravishing hair!—which, indeed, I
much
prefer to my own: and yet, withal, the child is sadly plain as a tin spoon; and cannot hope to attract any gentleman who is not, himself, decidedly homely.”

Cruel words, yet not greatly mistaken: for it was the case, as all attested, that Miss Samantha Zinn's features, whilst attractive individually, yet did not resolve themselves into that enigma,
Beauty.

Nor did it help that she had freckles, on her forehead in particular; and that, all unconsciously, she oft gnawed at her lower lip, as if tumultuous thoughts, not unlike those of her father's, ceaselessly tormented her brain, and urged her to take pen to paper. (“Samantha would be quite attractive,” Octavia said, in exasperation, “if only she was not always
thinking!
”) Allowed to work alongside Mr. Zinn, in the laboratory, Samantha was evidently quite at ease, and perfectly absorbed in her labor: at other times, and especially at social functions, she was visibly unnerved, and distracted, and very far from being agreeable company. Mrs. Craik's gentle observation, in one of her pieces in
The Ladies' Wreath,
that gentlemen are naturally discomfited by an
excess of ratiocination,
in the weaker sex, might have benefited this awkward young miss, had she troubled to seek it. But of course she failed to do so: the books she studied, all out of Mr. Zinn's own library, were very different indeed.

Constance Philippa observed of her, grimly, that she would, one day,
grow up,
and become a
lady:
for had she any choice?

It is hardly surprising, given these impediments, that Miss Samantha Zinn succeeded in intimidating those few suitors who cared to approach her: attracted initially by her petite figure, and the vivacity of which, at times, she showed herself capable, these gentlemen were soon discountenanced by her awkwardness at drawing-room repartee, and the unseemly enthusiasm with which she blundered into discussing
scientific subjects,
and other matters, of a masculine type, beyond her comprehension.

For there were times—indeed, on the night of her own debutante ball!—when, all unprovok'd, Samantha might begin to chatter excitedly about her father's great work, her eyes shining, and her tongue tripping over itself, with a childlike boastfulness: in which, unfortunately, there was not a whit of Mr. Zinn's intrinsic modesty, or sense of proportion. She was quite proud, for instance, that her father had assigned to her, for improvement, his ingenious
spring-stirrup:
this being a special device with which Mr. Zinn had tinkered thanklessly during the War years, for the employment of the United States Cavalry. (The stirrup was equipped with a clever spring mechanism, of Mr. Zinn's invention, which would automatically release the foot of a rider, if he was thrown or shot from his horse; for the greatest danger in such situations was that one might be dragged to his death, by a maddened steed. Many a time John Quincy Zinn, then a lowly private in the 103rd Pennsylvania Volunteers, had sought to demonstrate the efficacy of this shrewd invention, for his commanding officer, and, upon a singular occasion, for General McClellan himself: these efforts being, alas, greeted with no success, and resulting in several injuries to John Quincy, including lacerations of the face and head, and a fractured collarbone.)

On the very night of Samantha's debutante ball, held in the elegant cream-and-gold Federal room of Kidde­master Hall, with its eight lithesome Doric columns, and its splendid coffered ceiling, Samantha all unwittingly offended one gentleman after another, with her excitable chatter on these unseemly subjects. She did present a charming sight, with her tiny waist, delicate frame, and resplendent costume (a particularly full dress of pale lilac satin and brocade, adorned with innumerable flounces, ribbons, flowers, and Spanish lace, and looped up most becomingly with red and white camellias, this being shrewdly made over from a Worth design of Cousin Felicity Broome's, worn to her own debutante ball some seasons previous): yet, alas, what did it matter, if she chose to speak of inappropriate things?

She rattled on about Mr. Zinn's drawings for a
noiseless electric trolley,
to replace the cumbersome steam engine; and his drawings for an
auto-locomotive,
or
auto-mobile,
possibly to be run by electricity as well, the which wondrous device would replace forever horse-drawn carriages, with their steel-tire clatter, and crashing hooves, and unspeakable horse pollution: an invention to “change forever the face of the earth,” as Samantha declared, “and improve it immeasurably.” She spoke with immoderate pride of his
burglarproof lock,
which would eradicate theft, and many another form of wrongdoing, from the earth, once a manufacturing concern might be persuaded to produce it; and of his
perpetual-motion machine,
which was nearing its completion; and of a
Utopian paradise,
to be constructed early in the next century, by means of divers inventions, Mr. Zinn's necessarily at the vanguard. Ah, how the child's green eyes shone, as she spoke of cities to be “whitely iridescent, growing vertically into the sky, and beneath the surface of the earth as well!” One day, machines would service machines; great conveyor belts would move unceasingly, bringing forth goods of every imaginable type; there would be no want; no poverty; no yearning; and hence no
crime.
The theory of
interchangeable parts,
initially developed by Eli Whitney, and other American inventors, would be advanced a thousandfold, if Mr. Zinn could but interest an experimental and ambitious manufacturer, for it was his belief—nay, his absolute certitude—that, the secret of the universe being both
interchangeable units,
and
ceaseless motion,
humankind cannot do better than to emulate this law; and to establish,
in material terms,
that harmony of the Invisible Spheres, of which Mr. Ralph Waldo Emerson and others had spoken with such winning eloquence, earlier in the century. “For, as Father believes, if the human margin for error is but eliminated, and only accuracy-tested machines are entrusted with the maintenance of machines, and the conveyors, and the production, are never allowed to wastefully halt, why then how should we fail, to emerge ahead of the other nations, in the great adventure all before us?” Thus the heedless young lady rattled on, speaking with such ill-mannered enthusiasm, and feverish incoherence, as to irrevocably offend the very gentlemen who had been encouraged to dance with her, and, alas! to quite undo the effect of the beautiful lilac gown, and the lilac-dyed ostrich feathers which fell so charmingly backward, from her high mound of hair.

Unworldly, foolish child! She had not discerned the pitying, contemptuous, and amused looks, exchanged by her listeners; she had even been so deluded as to believe (until Malvinia cruelly told her otherwise), that the smile of one gentleman in particular, far from being a consequence of his delight in her words, was but a sign of derision, and thus interpreted by all. “It is your brain that is at fault, and must be brought under rigorous control,” Malvinia told Samantha, so vexed that she had to restrain herself from tapping the young woman's shoulder with her fan, “for, in its present condition, it is a
perpetual-motion machine
in itself; and most repugnant.”

 

SAMANTHA ALONE OF
the Zinn daughters exhibited no outward jealousy of little Deirdre, being of the practical belief that Mrs. Zinn loved them all as a mother must naturally love her children, in accordance with custom, and duty; and believing, in her innermost heart, that Mr. Zinn secretly loved
her
above any other member of his household, no matter that the vivacious Malvinia had seemed, from the cradle upward, her father's favorite. (For was not Samantha allowed to assist her father, in his workshop?—ofttimes for as long as eight, or ten, or even twelve,
uninterrupted hours.
And had not Mr. Zinn long since abandoned all efforts to speak of his sacred work, with anyone save Samantha?)

Indeed, Samantha felt some intrinsic sympathy for her adopted sister, both girls being yet childlike in their corporeal development, and so lacking in feminine graces, and beauty, as to have banished from the parlor, forever, any reading of Hans Christian Andersen's “The Ugly Duckling,” tho' others of Mr. Andersen's much-loved fairy tales were oft read aloud, with great delight. Both Samantha and the beetle-brow'd Deirdre were ill at ease, in even the most congenial female society: tea-table conversation baffled them, and their dresses were never quite right, and they were given to long maddening silences, as if their minds had, in defiance of all rules of social decorum, drifted elsewhere. From time to time, in such painful situations, they might even have exchanged a swift, covert glance—so fleet, however, as to be undiscerned by their elders, and scarcely remarked even by themselves.

Yet, how ironical it was! Despite Samantha's equanimity of manner, and her generosity in regard to certain whims of Deirdre's, it was evidently not the case that Deirdre felt more affection for Samantha than for the others; it was hardly the case that she felt any perceptible affection for her at all.

“Cold of heart!—and secretive!—and stubborn!—and perverse!” Samantha bethought herself, eying Deirdre's rigid back, as the girl sat at her hickory writing table, puzzling over a mathematical assignment from Mr. Zinn, or perusing, in secret, a volume of verse, or a romance of the darksome and gothic type, generally forbidden in the Octagonal House. “And yet, would I wish her otherwise? For I have all that I require—indeed,
more
than I require—of sisters: and find the expenditure of emotion very nearly more than I can grant.”

From time to time, in great alarm, Samantha might be wakened from her slumber to hear Deirdre's sobs, all but muffled in the bedclothes: and she would lie transfixed, wondering if she should move to comfort the unhappy child; or if she should allow her some measure of privacy, and secrecy?—seeing that she herself, to Mrs. Zinn's disapproval, prized both. However, if she did ask Deirdre what was wrong, the sobbing oft ceased at once; and the girl lay very still, and very rigid, in a stubborn pretense of sleep. Or, it might be, this instance of whispered solicitude, being unexpected, had the result of causing the stricken child to sob all the more violently—with such despair, and such shameless abandon, verging near upon hysteria, as to make Samantha herself frightened.

(Yet, alas, rarely enlightened, for upon these occasions too Deirdre would resolutely turn away, hunched up on the far side of the bed, her face pressed into the pillow. Only in the early years had she allowed Samantha to embrace her, all wordlessly, and would even cry herself to sleep, secure in Samantha's arms, the while whimpering most piteously certain incoherent phrases as “No, no . . . no . . . you cannot make me . . . I will not . . . no . . .” and appeals to “Mother” and “Father,” which Samantha, even as a young girl, comprehended did not pertain to Mr. and Mrs. Zinn, but to the deceas'd Bonners.)

Samantha also suffered some inordinate distractions, over a period of two or more years, when, shortly after Deirdre's twelfth birthday, their bedchamber began to be disturbed by curious raps, and knocks, and creaks, and near-inaudible “voices,” in the walls. This was the onset of the ne'er-explained
ghost phenomena
that were to cause some mischief in the Octagonal House, and elsewhere, and not a little embarrassment; for whilst it could not be proved that any one of the Zinns was responsible for these disruptions, it was always the case that the phenomena did not occur, apart from them: and apart from poor Deirdre, in particular.

Beginning, in a sense, modestly, the disagreeable occurrences increased, both in frequency, and in seriousness: soon moving out from the walls of the bedchamber, to infect the entire house, and, upon occasion the Hall, and several social events, which were then grievously ruined. (Thus Constance Philippa's eighteenth birthday celebration was disrupted, when an invisible force o'erturned the dining room table, and sent all the chinaware, crystal, and silver, and divers victuals, crashing to the floor; and a gay skating party on the river, organized by Malvinia, Miss Delphine Martineau, and several male cousins, in celebration of New Year's Day, was thrown into consternation, when, beneath the skaters' feet, the hard-frozen ice somehow creaked, and muttered, and heaved, and threatened to give way, to cause the young people to plummet into the icy waves—when, at the very same time, the ice was altogether solid! Most distressing of all, the
phenomena
followed the Zinns to old Whitton Hall, on the Delaware, where, one Michaelmas Eve, those elderly relatives of the Zinns and Kidde­masters had given a luxuriant reception, in honor of both the retired Chief Justice Godfrey Kidde­master, and the visiting Chief Justice of the Supreme Court Morrison Remick Waite, acquaintances of old: the creaks, raps, muffled shouts, heaving of furniture, blasts of icy air, and other familiar manifestations, taking place the while Deirdre herself was all innocently employed elsewhere, in a far wing of the house, doing her schoolwork!)