Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 11 (6 page)

 
          
           
At her own door the second surprise stood waiting for her, in the person of
Mrs. Fletcher's servant with a large box and a note from Miss Fanny. How she
ever got herself and her parcel up the long stairs Jessie never knew, she was
in such a frantic hurry to see what that vast box could contain. She startled
her sister by bursting into the room breathless, flushed, and beaming, with the
mysterious cry of,—

 
          
           
"Scissors!
quick
, the
scissors!"

 
          
           
Off went cords and papers, up flew the cover, and with a shriek of rapture
Jessie saw the well-known Hungarian costume lying there before her. What it all
meant she could not guess, till she tore open the note and read these
delightful words:—

 
          
           
DEAR JESS,—
My
cold is worse, and the doctor won't let
me go to-night. Isn't it dreadful? Our dance will be ruined unless you will
take my place. I know you will to oblige us, and have a lovely time. Every one
will be
glad,
you do it so much better than I can. My
dress will fit you, with tucks and reefs here and there; and the hoots won't be
much too large, for though I'm fat I have small feet, thank goodness! Mamma
will call for you at seven, and bring you safely home; and you must
come
early to-morrow and tell me all about it.

 
          
           
In the small box you will find a little token of our gratitude to you for your
kindness in helping us all so much. Yours ever,

 
          
           
As soon as Jessie could get her breath and recover from this first delightful
shock, she opened the dainty parcel carefully tied up with pink ribbons. It
proved to be a crystal slipper, apparently full of rosebuds; but under the
flowers lay five-and-twenty shining gold dollars. A little card with these
words was tucked in one corner, as if, with all their devices to make the
offering as delicate and pretty as possible, the givers feared to offend:—

 
          
           
"We return to our dear Princess the glass slipper which she lost at the
ball, full of thanks and good wishes."

 
          
           
If the kind young persons who sent the fanciful gift could have seen how it was
received, their doubts would soon have been set at rest; for Jessie laughed and
cried as she told the story, counted the precious coins, and filled the pretty
shoe with water that the buds might keep fresh for Laura. Then, while the
needles flew and the gay garments were fitted, the happy voices talked and the
sisters rejoiced together over this unexpected pleasure as only loving girls
could do.

 
          
           
"The sweetest part of all the splendid surprise is that they remembered me
just at the busiest time, and thanked me in such a lovely way. I shall keep
that glass slipper all my life, if I can, to remind me not to despair; for just
when everything seemed darkest, all this good luck came," said Jessie,
with ecstatic skips as she clanked the brass heels of her boots and thought of
the proud moment when she would join in the tzardas before all Boston.

 
          
           
Gentle Laura rejoiced and sympathized heartily, sewed like a busy bee, and sent
her happy sister away at seven o'clock with her sweetest smile, never letting
her suspect what tender hopes and fears were hidden in her own heart, what
longing and disappointment made her days doubly sad and lonely, or how very
poor a consolation all the glories of the Kirmess would be for the loss of a
friend who had grown very near and dear to her.

 
          
           
No need to tell the raptures of that evening to little Jessie, who enjoyed
every moment, played her part well, and was brought home at midnight ready to
begin all over again, so inexhaustible is youth's appetite for pleasure.

 
          
           
To her great surprise, Laura was up and waiting to welcome her, with a face so
full of a new and lovely happiness that Jessie guessed at once some good
fortune had come to her also. Yes, Laura's well-earned reward and beautiful
surprise had arrived at last; and she told it all in a few words as she held
out her arms exclaiming,—

 
          
           
"He has come back! He loves me, and I am so happy! Dear little sister, all
your hard times are over now, and you shall have a home again."

 
          
           
So the dreams came true, as they sometimes do even in this work-a-day world of
ours, when the dreamers strive as well as hope, and earn their rewards.

 
          
           
Laura had a restful summer at the seaside, with a stronger arm than Jessie's to
lean upon, and more magical medicine to help her back to health than any mortal
doctor could prescribe. Jessie danced again with a light heart,—for pleasure,
not for pay,—and found the new life all the sweeter for the trials of the old
one. In the autumn there was a quiet wedding, before three very happy people
sailed away to
Italy
,
the artist's heaven on earth.

 
          
           
"No roses for me," said Jessie, smiling at herself in the mirror as
she fastened a spray of rosy ivy-leaves in the bosom of her fresh white gown
that October morning. "I'll be true to my old friend; for it helped me in
my dark days, and now it shall rejoice with me in my bright ones, and go on
teaching me to climb bravely and patiently toward the light."

 
          
           
"He who serves well need not fear to ask his wages."

 
          
           
It was under a blue cap that I first saw the honest face of Joe Collins. In the
third year of the late war a
Maine
regiment was passing through
Boston
,
on its way to
Washington
. The
Common was all alive with troops and the spectators who clustered round them to
say God-speed, as the brave fellows marched away to meet danger and death for
our sakes.

 
          
           
Every one was eager to do something; and, as the men stood at ease, the people
mingled freely with them, offering gifts, hearty grips of the hand, and hopeful
prophecies of victory in the end. Irresistibly attracted, my boy Tom and I drew
near, and soon, becoming excited by the scene, ravaged the fruit-stands in our
neighborhood for tokens of our regard, mingling candy and congratulations,
peanuts and prayers, apples and applause, in one enthusiastic jumble.

 
          
           
While Tom was off on his third raid, my attention was attracted by a man who
stood a little apart, looking as if his thoughts were far away. All the men
were fine, stalwart fellows, as
Maine
men usually are; but this one over-topped his comrades, standing straight and
tall as a Norway pine, with a face full of the mingled shrewdness, sobriety,
and self-possession of the typical New Englander. I liked the look of him; and,
seeing that he seemed solitary, even in a crowd, I offered him my last apple
with a word of interest. The keen blue eyes met mine gratefully, and the apple
began to vanish in vigorous bites as we talked; for no one thought of ceremony
at such a time.

 
          
           
"Where are you from?"

 
          
           
"Woolidge, ma'am."

 
          
           
"Are you glad to go?"

 
          
           
"Wal, there's two sides to that question. I calk'late to do my duty, and
do it hearty: but it
is
rough on a
feller leavin' his folks, for good, maybe."

 
          
           
There was a sudden huskiness in the man's voice that was not apple-skins,
though he tried to make believe that it was. I knew a word about home would
comfort him, so I went on with my questions.

 
          
           
"It is very hard. Do you leave a family?"

 
          
           
"My old mother, a sick brother,—and Lucindy."

 
          
           
The last word was uttered in a tone of intense regret, and his brown cheek
reddened as he added hastily, to hide some embarrassment.—

 
          
           
"You see, Jim went last year, and got pretty well used up; so I felt as if
I'd ought to take my turn now. Mother was a regular old hero about it and I
dropped everything, and come off. Lucindy didn't think it was my duty; and that
made it awful hard, I tell you."

 
          
           
"Wives are less patriotic than mothers," I began; but he would not
hear Lucindy blamed, and said quickly,—

 
          
           
"She ain't my wife yet, but we calk'lated to be married in a month or so;
and it was wus for her than for me, women lot so on not being disappointed. I
couldn't
shirk, and here I
be
. When I git to work, I shall be all right: the first
wrench is the tryin' part."

 
          
           
Here he straightened his broad shoulders, and turned his face toward the flags
fluttering far in front, as if no backward look should betray the longing of
his heart for mother, home, and wife. I liked that little glimpse of character;
and when Tom returned with empty hands, reporting that every stall was
exhausted, I told him to find out what the man would like best, then run across
the street and get it.

 
          
           
"I know without asking. Give us your purse, and I'll make him as happy as
a king," said the boy, laughing, as he looked up admiringly at our tall
friend, who looked down on him with an elder-brotherly air pleasant to see.
While Tom was gone, I found out Joe's name and business, promised to write and
tell his mother how finely the regiment went off, and was just expressing a
hope that we might meet again, for I too was going to the war as nurse, when
the order to "Fall in!" came rolling down the ranks, and the talk was
over. Fearing Tom would miss our man in the confusion, I kept my eye on him
till the boy came rushing up with a packet of tobacco in one hand and a good
supply of cigars in the other. Not a romantic offering, certainly, but a very
acceptable one, as Joe's face proved, as we scrambled these treasures into his
pockets, all laughing at the flurry, while less fortunate comrades helped us,
with an eye to a share of these fragrant luxuries by and by. There was just
time for this, a hearty shake of the big hand, and a grateful "Good-by,
ma'am;" then the word was given, and they were off. Bent on seeing the
last of them, Tom and I took a short cut, and came out on the wide street down
which so many troops marched that year; and, mounting some high steps, we
watched for our man, as we already called him.

 
          
           
As the inspiring music, the grand
tramp,
drew near,
the old thrill went through the crowd, the old cheer broke out. But it was a
different scene now than in the first enthusiastic, hopeful days. Young men and
ardent boys filled the ranks then, brave by instinct, burning with loyal zeal,
and blissfully unconscious of all that lay before them. Now the blue coats were
worn by mature men, some gray, all grave and resolute: husbands and fathers,
with the memory of wives and children tugging at their heart-strings; homes
left desolate behind them, and before them the grim certainty of danger,
hardship, and perhaps the lifelong helplessness worse than death. Little of the
glamour of romance about the war now: they saw it as it was, a long, hard task;
and here were the men to do it well. Even the lookers-on were different now.
Once all was wild enthusiasm and glad uproar; now men's lips were set, and women's
smileless as they cheered; fewer handkerchiefs whitened the air, for wet eyes
needed them; and sudden lulls, almost solemn in their stillness, followed the
acclamations of the crowd. All watched with quickened breath and brave souls
that living wave, blue below, and bright with a steely glitter above, as it
flowed down the street and away to distant battle-fields already stained with
precious blood.

 
          
           
"There he is!
The outside man, and tallest of the lot.
Give him a cheer, auntie: he sees us, and remembers!" cried Tom, nearly
tumbling off his perch, as he waved his hat, and pointed out Joe Collins.

 
          
           
Yes, there he was, looking up, with a smile on his brave brown face, my little
nosegay in his button-hole, a suspicious bulge in the pocket close by, and
doubtless a comfortable quid in his mouth, to cheer the weary march. How like
an old friend he looked, though we had only met fifteen minutes ago; how glad
we were to be there to smile back at him, and send him on his way feeling that,
even in a strange city, there was some one to say, "God bless you,
Joe!" We watched the tallest blue cap till it vanished, and then went home
in a glow of patriotism,—Tom to long for his turn to come, I to sew vigorously
on the gray gown the new nurse burned to wear as soon as possible, and both of
us to think and speak often of poor Joe Collins and his Lucindy. All this
happened long ago; but it is well to recall those stirring times,—to keep fresh
the memory of sacrifices made for us by men like these; to see to it that the
debt we owe them is honestly, gladly paid; and, while we decorate the graves of
those who died, to remember also those who still live to deserve our grateful
care.

 
          
           
I never expected to see Joe again; but, six months later, we did meet in a
Washington
hospital one winter's night. A train of ambulances had left their sad freight
at our door, and we were hurrying to get the poor fellows into much needed
beds, after a week of hunger, cold, and unavoidable neglect. All forms of pain
were in my ward that night, and all borne with the pathetic patience which was
a daily marvel to those who saw it.

 
          
           
Trying to bring order out of chaos, I was rushing up and down the narrow aisle
between the rows of rapidly filling beds, and, after brushing several times
against a pair of the largest and muddiest boots I ever saw, I paused at last
to inquire why they were impeding the passageway. I found they belonged to a
very tall man who seemed to be already asleep or dead, so white and still and
utterly worn out he looked as he lay there, without a coat, a great patch on
his forehead, and the right arm rudely bundled up. Stooping to cover him, I saw
that he was unconscious, and, whipping out my brandy-bottle and salts, soon
brought him round, for it was only exhaustion.

 
          
           
"Can you eat?" I asked, as he said, "Thanky, ma'am," after
a long draught of water and a dizzy stare.

 
          
           
"Eat! I'm starvin'!" he answered, with such a ravenous glance at a
fat nurse who happened to be passing, that I trembled for her, and hastened to
take a bowl of soup from her tray.

 
          
           
As I fed him, his gaunt, weather-beaten face had a familiar look; but so many
such faces had passed before me that winter, I did not recall this one till the
ward-master came to put up the cards with the new-comers' names above their
beds. My man seemed absorbed in his food; but I naturally glanced at the card,
and there was the name "Joseph Collins" to give me an additional
interest in my new patient.

 
          
           
"Why, Joe!
is
it really you?" I exclaimed,
pouring the last spoonful of soup down his throat so hastily that I choked him.

 
          
           
"All that's left of me.
Wal,
ain't this luck, now?" gasped Joe, as gratefully as if that hospital-cot
was a bed of roses.

 
          
           
"What is the matter?
A wound in the head and arm?"
I asked, feeling sure that no slight affliction had brought Joe there.

 
          
           
"Right arm gone.
Shot off as slick as a whistle.
I tell you, it's a sing'lar kind of a feelin' to see a piece of your own body
go flyin' away, with no prospect of ever coming back again," said Joe,
trying to make light of one of the greatest misfortunes a man can suffer.

 
          
           
"That is bad, but it might have been worse. Keep up your spirits, Joe; and
we will soon have you fitted out with a new arm almost as good as new."

 
          
           
"I guess it won't do much lumberin', so that trade is done for. I s'pose
there's things left-handed fellers can do, and I must learn 'em as soon as
possible, since my fightin' days are over," and Joe looked at his one arm
with a sigh that was almost a groan, helplessness is such a trial to a manly
man,—and he was eminently so.

 
          
           
"What can I do to comfort you most, Joe? I'll send my good Ben to help you
to bed, and will be here myself when the surgeon goes his rounds. Is there
anything else that would make you
more easy
?"

 
          
           
"If you could just drop a line to mother to let her know I'm alive, it
would be a sight of comfort to both of us. I guess I'm in for a long spell of
hospital, and I'd lay easier if I knew mother and Lucindy warn't frettin' about
me."

 
          
           
He must have been suffering terribly, but he thought of the women who loved him
before himself, and, busy as I was, I snatched a moment to send a few words of
hope to the old mother. Then I left him "
layin'
easy," though the prospect of some months of wearing pain would have
daunted most men. If I had needed anything to increase my regard for Joe, it
would have been the courage with which he bore a very bad quarter of an hour
with the surgeons; for his arm was in a dangerous state, the wound in the head
feverish for want of care; and a heavy cold on the lungs suggested pneumonia as
an added trial to his list of ills.