A Romance of the Republic - Lydia Maria Francis Child
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The sudden change that came over her arrested him. She pressed one
hand hard upon her heart, and gasped for breath. He sank at once on
his knees, crying, "O, forgive me, Rosa! I was beside myself."
But she gave no sign of hearing him; and seeing her reel backward into
a chair, with pale lips and closing eyes, he hastened to summon Tulee.
Such remorse came over him that he longed to wait for her returning
consciousness. But he remembered that his long absence must excite
surprise in the mind of his bride, and might, perhaps, connect itself
with the mysterious singer of the preceding evening. Goaded by
contending feelings, he hurried through the footpaths whence he had so
often kissed his hand to Rosa in fond farewell, and hastily mounted
his horse without one backward glance.
Before he came in sight of the plantation, the perturbation of his
mind had subsided, and he began to think himself a much-injured
individual. "Plague on the caprices of women!" thought he. "All this
comes of Lily's taking the silly, romantic whim of coming here to
spend the honeymoon. And Rosa, foolish girl, what airs she assumes! I
wanted to deal generously by her; but she rejected all my offers as
haughtily as if she had been queen of Spain and all the Americas.
There's a devilish deal more of the Spanish blood in her than I
thought for. Pride becomes her wonderfully; but it won't hold out
forever. She'll find that she can't live without me. I can wait."
Feeling the need of some safety-valve to let off his vexation, he
selected poor Tom for that purpose. When the obsequious servant came
to lead away the horse, his master gave him a sharp cut of the whip,
saying, "I'll teach you to tell tales again, you black rascal!"
But having a dainty aversion to the sight of pain, he summoned the
overseer, and consigned him to his tender mercies.
CHAPTER XIII.
If Flora could have known all this, the sisters would have soon been
locked in each other's arms; but while she supposed that Rosa
still regarded Mr. Fitzgerald with perfect love and confidence, no
explanation of her flight could be given. She did indeed need to be
often reminded by Mrs. Delano that it would be the most unkind thing
toward her sister, as well as hazardous to herself, to attempt any
communication. Notwithstanding the tenderest care for her comfort
and happiness, she could not help being sometimes oppressed with
homesickness. Her Boston home was tasteful and elegant, but everything
seemed foreign and strange. She longed for Rosa and Tulee, and Madame
and the Signor. She missed what she called the _olla-podrida_ phrases
to which she had always been accustomed; and in her desire to behave
with propriety, there was an unwonted sense of constraint. When
callers came, she felt like a colt making its first acquaintance
with harness. She endeavored to conceal such feelings from her kind
benefactress; but sometimes, if she was surprised in tears, she
would say apologetically, "I love you dearly, Mamita Lila; but it is
dreadful to be so far away from anybody that ever knew anything about
the old times."
"But you forget that I do know something about them, darling," replied
Mrs. Delano. "I am never so happy as when you are telling me about
your father. Perhaps by and by, when you have become enough used to
your new home to feel as mischievous as you are prone to be, you will
take a fancy to sing to me, 'O, there's nothing half so sweet in life
as love's _old_ dream.'"
It was beautiful to see how girlish the sensible and serious lady
became in her efforts to be companionable to her young _protegee_. Day
after day, her intimate friends found her playing battledoor or the
Graces, or practising pretty French romanzas, flowery rondeaux, or
lively dances. She was surprised at herself; for she had not supposed
it possible for her ever to take an interest in such things after her
daughter died. But, like all going out of self, these efforts brought
their recompense.
She always introduced the little stranger as "Miss Flora Delano, my
adopted daughter." To those who were curious to inquire further, she
said: "She is an orphan, in whom I became much interested in the West
Indies. As we were both very much alone in the world, I thought the
wisest thing we could do would be to cheer each other's loneliness."
No allusion was ever made to her former name, for that might have
led to inconvenient questions concerning her father's marriage; and,
moreover, the lady had no wish to resuscitate the little piece of
romance in her own private history, now remembered by few.
It was contrary to Mrs. Delano's usual caution and deliberation to
adopt a stranger so hastily; and had she been questioned beforehand,
she would have pronounced it impossible for her to enter into such a
relation with one allied to the colored race, and herself a slave. But
a strange combination of circumstances had all at once placed her in
this most unexpected position. She never for one moment regretted
the step she had taken; but the consciousness of having a secret to
conceal, especially a secret at war with the conventional rules of
society, was distasteful to her, and felt as some diminution of
dignity. She did not believe in the genuineness of Rosa's marriage,
though she deemed it best not to impart such doubts to Flora. If Mr.
Fitzgerald should marry another, she foresaw that it would be her duty
to assist in the reunion of the sisters, both of whom were slaves.
She often thought to herself, "In what a singular complication I have
become involved! So strange for me, who have such an aversion to all
sorts of intrigues and mysteries." With these reflections were mingled
anxieties concerning Flora's future. Of course, it would not be well
for her to be deprived of youthful companionship; and if she mixed
with society, her handsome person, her musical talent, and her
graceful dancing would be sure to attract admirers. And then, would it
be right to conceal her antecedents? And if they should be explained
or accidentally discovered, after her young affections were engaged,
what disappointment and sadness might follow!
But Flora's future was in a fair way to take care of itself. One day
she came flying into the parlor with her face all aglow. "O Mamita
Lila," exclaimed she, "I have had such a pleasant surprise! I went to
Mr. Goldwin's store to do your errand, and who should I find there but
Florimond Blumenthal!"
"And, pray, who is Florimond Blumenthal?" inquired Mrs. Delano.
"O, haven't I told you? I thought I had told you all about everybody
and everything. He was a poor orphan, that papa took for an
errand-boy. He sent him to school, and afterward he was his clerk. He
came to our house often when I was a little girl; but after he grew
tall, papa used to send an old negro man to do our errands. So I
didn't see him any more till _cher papa_ died. He was very kind to us
then. He was the one that brought those beautiful baskets I told you
of. Isn't it funny? They drove him away from New Orleans because they
said he was an Abolitionist, and that he helped us to escape, when he
didn't know anything at all about it. He said he heard we had gone to
the North. And he went looking all round in New York, and then he came
to Boston, hoping to see us or hear from us some day; but he had about
done expecting it when I walked into the store. You never saw anybody
so red as he was, when he held out his hand and said, in such a
surprised way, 'Miss Royal, is it you?' Just out of mischief, I told
him very demurely that my name was Delano. Then he became very formal
all at once, and said, 'Does this silk suit you, Mrs. Delano?' That
made me laugh, and blush too. I told him I wasn't married, but a kind
lady in Summer Street had adopted me and given me her name. Some other
customers came up to the counter, and so I had to come away."
"Did you ask him not to mention your former name?" inquired Mrs.
Delano.
"No, I hadn't time to think of that," replied Flora; "but I _will_ ask
him."
"Don't go to the store on purpose to see him, dear. Young ladies
should be careful about such things," suggested her maternal friend.
Two hours afterward, as they returned from a carriage-drive, Flora had
just drawn off her gloves, when she began to rap on the window, and
instantly darted into the street. Mrs. Delano, looking out, saw her on
the opposite sidewalk, in earnest conversation with a young gentleman.
When she returned, she said to her: "You shouldn't rap on the windows
to young gentlemen, my child. It hasn't a good appearance."
"I didn't rap to young gentlemen," replied Flora. "It was only
Florimond. I wanted to tell him not to mention my name. He asked me
about my sister, and I told him she was alive and well, and I couldn't
tell him any more at present. Florimond won't mention anything I
request him not to,--I know he won't."
Mrs. Delano smiled to herself at Flora's quick, off-hand way of doing
things. "But after all," thought she, "it is perhaps better settled
so, than it would have been with more ceremony." Then speaking aloud,
she said, "Your friend has a very blooming name."
"His name was Franz," rejoined Flora; "but Mamita called him
Florimond, because he had such pink cheeks; and he liked Mamita so
much, that he always writes his name Franz Florimond. We always had so
many flowery names mixed up with our _olla-podrida_ talk. _Your_ name
is flowery too. I used to say Mamita would have called you Lady Viola;
but violet colors and lilac colors are cousins, and they both suit
your complexion and your name, Mamita Lila."
After dinner, she began to play and sing with more gayety than she
had manifested for many a day. While her friend played, she practised
several new dances with great spirit; and after she had kissed
good-night, she went twirling through the door, as if music were
handing her out.
Mrs. Delano sat awhile in revery. She was thinking what a splendid
marriage her adopted daughter might make, if it were not for that
stain upon her birth. She was checked by the thought: "How I have
fallen into the world's ways, which seemed to me so mean and heartless
when I was young! Was _I_ happy in the splendid marriage they made for
_me_? From what Flora lets out occasionally, I judge her father felt
painfully the anomalous position of his handsome daughters. Alas! if
I had not been so weak as to give him up, all this miserable
entanglement might have been prevented. So one wrong produces another
wrong; and thus frightfully may we affect the destiny of others, while
blindly following the lead of selfishness. But the past, with all its
weaknesses and sins, has gone beyond recall; and I must try to write a
better record on the present."
As she passed to her sleeping-room, she softly entered the adjoining
chamber, and, shading the lamp with her hand, she stood for a moment
looking at Flora. Though it was but a few minutes since she was
darting round like a humming-bird, she was now sleeping as sweetly as
a babe. She made an extremely pretty picture in her slumber, with the
long dark eyelashes resting on her youthful cheek, and a shower of
dark curls falling over her arm. "No wonder Alfred loved her so
dearly," thought she. "If his spirit can see us, he must bless me
for saving his innocent child." Filled with this solemn and tender
thought, she knelt by the bedside, and prayed for blessing and
guidance in the task she had undertaken.
The unexpected finding of a link connected with old times had a
salutary effect on Flora's spirits. In the morning, she said that she
had had pleasant dreams about Rosabella and Tulee, and that she didn't
mean to be homesick any more. "It's very ungrateful," added she, "when
my dear, good Mamita Lila does so much to make me happy."
"To help you keep your good resolution, I propose that we go to the
Athenaeum," said Mrs. Delano, smiling. Flora had never been in a
gallery of paintings, and she was as much pleased as a little child
with a new picture-book. Her enthusiasm attracted attention, and
visitors smiled to see her clap her hands, and to hear her little
shouts of pleasure or of fun. Ladies said to each other, "It's plain
that this lively little _adoptee_ of Mrs. Delano's has never been much
in good society." And gentlemen answered, "It is equally obvious that
she has never kept vulgar company."
Mrs. Delano's nice ideas of conventional propriety were a little
disturbed, and she was slightly annoyed by the attention they
attracted. But she said to herself, "If I am always checking the
child, I shall spoil the naturalness which makes her so charming." So
she quietly went on explaining the pictures, and giving an account of
the artists.
The next day it rained; and Mrs. Delano read aloud "The Lady of the
Lake," stopping now and then to explain its connection with Scottish
history, or to tell what scenes Rossini had introduced in _La Donna
del Lago_, which she had heard performed in Paris. The scenes of the
opera were eagerly imbibed, but the historical lessons rolled off
her memory, like water from a duck's back. It continued to rain and
drizzle for three days; and Flora, who was very atmospheric, began
to yield to the dismal influence of the weather. Her watchful friend
noticed the shadow of homesickness coming over the sunlight of her
eyes, and proposed that they should go to a concert. Flora objected,
saying that music would make her think so much of Rosabella, she was
afraid she should cry in public. But when the programme was produced,
she saw nothing associated with her sister, and said, "I will go if
you wish it, Mamita Lila, because I like to do everything you wish."
She felt very indifferent about going; but when Mr. Wood came forward,
singing, "The sea, the sea, the open sea!" in tones so strong and full
that they seemed the voice of the sea itself, she was half beside
herself with delight. She kept time with her head and hands, with a
degree of animation that made the people round her smile. She, quite
unconscious of observation, swayed to the music, and ever and anon
nodded her approbation to a fair-faced young gentleman, who seemed to
be enjoying the concert very highly, though not to such a degree as to
be oblivious of the audience.
Mrs. Delano was partly amused and partly annoyed. She took Flora's
hand, and by a gentle pressure, now and then, sought to remind her
that they were in public; but she understood it as an indication of
musical sympathy, and went on all the same.
When they entered the carriage to return home, she drew a long breath,
and exclaimed, O Mamita, how I have enjoyed the concert!"
"I am very glad of it," replied her friend. "I suppose that was Mr.
Blumenthal to whom you nodded several times, and who followed you to
the carriage. But, my dear, it isn't the custom for young ladies to
keep nodding to young gentlemen in public places."
"Isn't it? I didn't think anything about it," rejoined Flora. "But
Florimond isn't a gentleman. He's an old acquaintance. Don't you find
it very tiresome, Mamita, to be always remembering what is the custom?
I'm sure _I_ shall never learn."
When she went singing up stairs that night, Mrs. Delano smiled to
herself as she said, "What _am_ I to do with this mercurial young
creature? What an overturn she makes in all my serious pursuits and
quiet ways! But there is something singularly refreshing about the
artless little darling."
Warm weather was coming, and Mrs. Delano began to make arrangements
for passing the summer at Newport; but her plans were suddenly
changed. One morning Flora wished to purchase some colored crayons to
finish a drawing she had begun. As she was going out, her friend said
to her, "The sun shines so brightly, you had better wear your veil."
"O, I've been muffled up so much, I do detest veils," replied Flora,
half laughingly and half impatiently. "I like to have a whole world
full of air to breathe in. But if you wish it, Mamita Lila, I will
wear it."
It seemed scarcely ten minutes after, when the door-bell was rung with
energy, and Flora came in nervously agitated.
"O Mamita!" exclaimed she, "I am so glad you advised me to wear a
veil. I met Mr. Fitzgerald in this very street. I don't think he saw
me, for my veil was close, and as soon as I saw him coming I held my
head down. He can't take me here in Boston, and carry me off, can he?"
"He shall not carry you off, darling; but you must not go in the
street, except in the carriage with me. We will sit up stairs, a
little away from the windows; and if I read aloud, you won't forget
yourself and sing at your embroidery or drawing, as you are apt to do.
It's not likely he will remain in the city many days, and I will try
to ascertain his movements."
Before they had settled to their occupations, a ring at the door made
Flora start, and quickened the pulses of her less excitable friend. It
proved to be only a box of flowers from the country. But Mrs. Delano,
uneasy in the presence of an undefined danger, the nature and extent
of which she did not understand, opened her writing-desk and wrote the
following note:--
"MR. WILLARD PERCIVAL.
"Dear Sir,--If you can spare an hour this evening to talk with me on a
subject of importance, you will greatly oblige yours,
"Very respectfully,
"LILA DELANO"
A servant was sent with the note, and directed to admit no gentleman
during the day or evening, without first bringing up his name.
While they were lingering at the tea-table, the door-bell rang, and
Flora, with a look of alarm, started to run up stairs. "Wait a moment,
till the name is brought in," said her friend. "If I admit the
visitor, I should like to have you follow me to the parlor, and remain
there ten or fifteen minutes. You can then go to your room, and when
you are there, dear, be careful not to sing loud. Mr. Fitzgerald shall
not take you from me; but if he were to find out you were here, it
might give rise to talk that would be unpleasant."
The servant announced Mr. Willard Percival; and a few moments
afterward Mrs. Delano introduced her _protegee_. Mr. Percival was too
well bred to stare, but the handsome, foreign-looking little damsel
evidently surprised him. He congratulated them both upon the relation
between them, and said he need not wish the young lady happiness in
her new home, for he believed Mrs. Delano always created an
atmosphere of happiness around her. After a few moments of desultory
conversation, Flora left the room. When she had gone, Mr. Percival
remarked, "That is a very fascinating young person."
"I thought she would strike you agreeably," replied Mrs. Delano. "Her
beauty and gracefulness attracted me the first time I saw her; and
afterward I was still more taken by her extremely _naive_ manner.
She has been brought up in seclusion as complete as Miranda's on the
enchanted island; and there is no resisting the charm of her impulsive
naturalness. But, if you please, I will now explain the note I sent
to you this morning. I heard some months ago that you had joined the
Anti-Slavery Society."
"And did you send for me hoping to convert me from the error of my
ways?" inquired he, smiling.
"On the contrary, I sent for you to consult concerning a slave in whom
I am interested."
"_You_, Mrs. Delano!" he exclaimed, in a tone of great surprise.
"You may well think it strange," she replied, "knowing, as you do,
how bitterly both my father and my husband were opposed to the
anti-slavery agitation, and how entirely apart my own life has been
from anything of that sort. But while I was at the South this winter,
I heard of a case which greatly interested my feelings. A wealthy
American merchant in New Orleans became strongly attached to a
beautiful quadroon, who was both the daughter and the slave of a
Spanish planter. Her father became involved in some pecuniary trouble,
and sold his daughter to the American merchant, knowing that they were
mutually attached. Her bondage was merely nominal, for the tie of
affection remained constant between them as long as she lived; and he
would have married her if such marriages had been legal in Louisiana.
By some unaccountable carelessness, he neglected to manumit her. She
left two handsome and accomplished daughters, who always supposed
their mother to be a Spanish lady, and the wedded wife of their
father. But he died insolvent, and, to their great dismay, they found
themselves claimed as slaves under the Southern law, that 'the child
follows the condition of the mother.' A Southern gentleman, who was in
love with the eldest, married her privately, and smuggled them both
away to Nassau. After a while he went there to meet them, having
previously succeeded in buying them of the creditors. But his conduct
toward the younger was so base, that she absconded. The question I
wish to ask of you is, whether, if he should find her in the Free
States, he could claim her as his slave, and have his claim allowed by
law."
"Not if he sent them to Nassau," replied Mr. Percival. "British soil
has the enviable distinction of making free whosoever touches it."
"But he afterward brought them back to an island between Georgia and
South Carolina," said Mrs. Delano. "The eldest proved a most loving
and faithful wife, and to this day has no suspicion of his designs
with regard to her sister."
"If he married her before he went to Nassau, the ceremony is not
binding," rejoined Mr. Percival; "for no marriage with a slave is
legal in the Southern States."
"I was ignorant of that law," said Mrs. Delano, "being very little
informed on the subject of slavery. But I suspected trickery of some
sort in the transaction, because he proved himself so unprincipled
with regard to the sister."
"And where is the sister?" inquired Mr. Percival.
"I trust to your honor as a gentleman to keep the secret from every
mortal," answered Mrs. Delano. "You have seen her this evening."
"Is it possible," he exclaimed, "that you mean to say she is your
adopted daughter?"
"I did mean to say that," she replied. "I have placed great confidence
in you; for you can easily imagine it would be extremely disagreeable
to me, as well as to her, to become objects of public notoriety."
"Your confidence is a sacred deposit," answered he. "I have long been
aware that the most romantic stories in the country have grown out of
the institution of slavery; but this seems stranger than fiction. With
all my knowledge of the subject, I find it hard to realize that such
a young lady as that has been in danger of being sold on the
auction-block in this republic. It makes one desirous to conceal that
he is an American."
"My principal reason for wishing to consult you," said Mrs. Delano,
"is, that Mr. Fitzgerald, the purchaser of these girls, is now in the
city, and Flora met him this morning. Luckily, she was closely veiled,
and he did not recognize her. I think it is impossible he can have
obtained any clew to my connivance at her escape, and yet I feel a
little uneasy. I am so ignorant of the laws on this subject, that I
don't know what he has the power to do if he discovers her. Can he
claim her here in Boston?"
"He could claim her and bring her before the United States Court,"
replied Mr. Percival; "but I doubt whether he _would_ do it. To claim
such a girl as _that_ for a slave, would excite general sympathy
and indignation, and put too much ammunition into the hands of us
Abolitionists. Besides, no court in the Free States could help
deciding that, if he sent her to Nassau, she became free. If he should
discover her whereabouts, I shouldn't wonder if attempts were made to
kidnap her; for men of his character are very unscrupulous, and there
are plenty of caitiffs in Boston ready to do any bidding of their
Southern masters. If she were conveyed to the South, though the courts
_ought_ to decide she was free, it is doubtful whether they _would_ do
it; for, like Achilles, they scorn the idea that laws were made for
such as they."
"If I were certain that Mr. Fitzgerald knew of her being here, or
that he even suspected it," said Mrs. Delano, "I would at once
take measures to settle the question by private purchase; but the
presumption is that he and the sister suppose Flora to be dead, and
her escape cannot be made known without betraying the cause of it.
Flora has a great dread of disturbing her sister's happiness, and she
thinks that, now she is away, all will go well. Another difficulty is,
that, while the unfortunate lady believes herself to be his lawful
wife, she is really his slave, and if she should offend him in any way
he could sell her. It troubles me that I cannot discover any mode of
ascertaining whether he deserts her or not. He keeps her hidden in the
woods in that lonely island, where her existence is unknown, except to
a few of his negro slaves. The only white friends she seems to have in
the world are her music teacher and French teacher in New Orleans. Mr.
Fitzgerald has impressed it upon their minds that the creditors of her
father will prosecute him, and challenge him, if they discover that he
first conveyed the girls away and then bought them at reduced prices.
Therefore, if I should send an agent to New Orleans at any time to
obtain tidings of the sister, those cautious friends would doubtless
consider it a trap of the creditors, and would be very secretive."