Nattie Nesmith/Chapter 19

by Sophia Homespun

 

Chapter XIX.

Disclosures.

ATTIE had been a week sheltered and cared for by the humane young couple at Sibley's Corner, when one evening the husband came in from the saw-mill, with a beaming face. The baby was perched on the foot of the bed where the sick girl lay; and the young mother sat near, at her sewing.

"What is it, Robert?" she asked, looking up in her husband's face; "you seem to have some news of a pleasant character."

"I believe I have," he answered. "Read this letter, and then you can judge for yourself; though I don't know as I can wait for you to read it, but must tell you at once that father is coming to see us soon."

"Oh!" exclaimed the little wife, joyfully, as she took the proffered sheet, "how delighted we shall be! and I wonder what he will think of baby."

"No doubt he will think him a prodigy," the husband returned, while his wife tried to box him, playfully, with the open sheet which she held in her hand.

Nattie heard all this; and after the letter was read, said to the little woman who had been her kind nurse:

"If you are going to have company, I must go away. There will not be room for me; and I am afraid of strangers, too."

"Nonsense!" said the husband, who caught the low words; "father is one of the cleverest old chaps in the world; he used to make much of the little girl that he lost. I expect that we shall find him changed since that, Dimple, and mother gone, too. The little girl that was born after I left home, he talks of bringing with him."

"If so many are coming, I must certainly go," said Nattie, who shrank very much from the sight of strangers.

"Oh, no," said the wife, re-assuringly; "there is plenty of room in the cottage, and you are not fit to leave. Besides, where would you go?"

Nattie turned her face away at the question, and answered slowly, "To see if I could get work at some of the houses near."

"When you are fit to work, we will employ you," said the young woman. "But if you would like to be more retired than you can be in this room, I will have Robert move you to the little bed-room adjoining."

"Can I go to-night?" asked Nattie.

"You can," was the answer; "though our company may not be here for several days."

"When they do come, please don't let them know that I am here," said Nattie.

"Why not?" asked Mr. Robert. "Quite likely father and his little girl may wish to see you; for I've a notion that he will feel an interest in all unfortunate ones now, the same as I do."

"Oh, I don't think it does me good to see strangers," said Nattie. "It seems to bring the daze back to my head, and makes me see,—strange things all around me; and sometimes but half of things."

"Well, you sha'n't be troubled till you are better," said the wife; "we will put you in the little bed-room cot to-night, and warm it by day with a furnace of coals."

Nattie was pleased with this prospect.

"But sometimes the baby can sit with me in there, I hope," she said, watching the movements of the chubby hands among the playthings strewn over the foot of her bed.

"No doubt I shall be glad to let him make you frequent calls," was the response.

As Nattie's hands were now quite healed, she thought that, if she had something with which to employ them a while each day, time would drag less heavily. She remembered the last task to which she had sat down before the destroying wretches had entered the wigwam. It was to work the name of "Augustus Reid" in beads. She asked if the dress in which she had come to her present place of abode, was entirely burned away.

"Why, no, not quite," said the young woman; "but it was a hee of fragments. I put itamong my soiled rags."

"If you would look and see if the pocket is still there," said Nattie, "and bring anything it may contain, to me, I would be very giad."

The search was made, and the pocket, itself, placed in Nattie's hand. Her eyes shone with pleasure as she received it. There were the beads and cloth in a bit of paper, tied around with some threads of horse-hair. Her hands kept busy all that day, in the bed-room, fashioning the letters of the name "Augustus," and her head was quite disordered by night, and her eyes saw pin-cushions, with glittering figures, and mottoes in white beads, all over her little dark bed-spread. She did not speak of this to her friends, but concluded that she had worked too closely, and had better put by her work until the next day.

On this evening, just as the family were thinking of retiring, there was a knock on the outer door. It startled Nattie, in her nervous, exhausted state. She started up, and said:

"Please shut my door, and don't tell that I am here, for I know that it is somebody after me, just as well as can be."

The young people looked at each other, and then strove to calm the excited girl, by bidding her lie still, and promising that no harm should come to her.

"You go out," said the wife to her husband; "it is probably some man who wishes to see you on business, and I will close the door and sit here awhile. I prefer it to listening to talk in which I have no particular interest. Tulip will like mine and baby's company while I rock him to sleep, I know."

The door was closed, and the young lumberman went at once to usher in his guest. It proved to be Augustus Reid. His dress and person bore marks of toil and travel; his face was pale and anxious; his eyes red, and roaming fitfully around him.

"I am afraid that you have been ill, or encountered severe hardship since I saw you last," said the contractor, offering his guest a chair near the stove. "It is not long since my wife was wondering what had become of you, as, when you last left us, we expected to hear from you in a day or two from that time. It has been more than a week since then."

"No longer than that?" asked the young man, dreamily, as he passed his hand across his brow; "I could believe that it had been months, instead; but, as I think, I find that you are right. We were speaking then of a place which you were ready to give me. No doubt you have found another to fill it before now, as I did not return, according to agreement. But I did not intend to break my word; unexpected events prevented the keeping of the promise."

The young man bowed his face on his hands, and seemed to sink into deep thought. The contractor did not break the silence for some time, but waited for the visitor to speak his mind as he saw fit. Without looking up, the young Indian at length said:

"I suppose that you have found an overseer for the men whom you would have placed under my care."

"No," was the response; "and now I do not need one."

The young man looked quickly toward the speaker.

"They have gone," the contractor continued.

"Gone!" echoed Augustus Reid, feeling his heart throb faster, at these tidings.

"Fled,—cleared out,"—was the answer; "so I was told by some of the hands, when they came in to-night. Their camps in the forest are empty. I was not sorry to hear this, for I mistrust that they have done some deeds of violence in the vicinity, and their decamping saves me the trial and hindrance of looking them up. I do not wish to bring a lawless set of men into the country, and will not retain such in my employ if aware of their character. I have been suspicious of these fellows for a week past, and was glad to hear of their flight."

"Do you know of any evil which they have done?" asked the young man, looking at the floor.

"Not positively; but I mistrust that they have disturbed the peace of the wigwam of some Indian family."

"In what manner? by theft, or violence?"

"By fire," was the answer.

"Have you heard such tidings, or been abroad to search for yourself? or what proof have you?" the young man asked, still looking thoughtfully down upon the mat at his feet.

"I have not been abroad as yet," was the answer, "but have proof enough that mischief has been done."

"What proof have you?"

The words came falteringly. The lumberman noticed the suppressed emotions of his visitor, as he responded:

"I have seen one of the victims."

The young Indian sprang to his feet; bedds of perspiration stood on his brow; his eyes shot forth wild, startled glances, as he whispered, hoarsely:

"Where? where? Alive, or dead?"

The young contractor reached out and took the excited youth by the hand, and said, soothingly:

"Here, and living; so now be calm. Sit by me, and let me hear what you have met since I saw you last, for I feel certain it will have a bearing on the mystery that has come to us."

Thus soothed and encouraged, Augustus drew a chair near his friend, and related the adventures with which the reader is already acquainted. When he stated that it was the wigwam of his father, the brave chief, North Wind, that had been burned in his absence from home, a look of intelligence crossed the face of the young man, who listened, and he hastily inquired:

"Had you not an own sister, a girl of but half Indian blood, tarrying there?"

Augustus Reid shook his head, and said:

"Did I not tell you when I sat here by your fire, a few days ago, that I was the only child of my white mother, and bore her name?"

"Excuse me; I recollect now," said the contractor; "but,"—he hesitated.

The door of the little bed-room now opened, and the young wife came out, bearing her sleeping baby in her arms. She started, smiled and bowed, when she saw who was the visitor. Her husband rose and assisted in placing the child in the cradle. The little woman then advanced to shake hands with the guest, and inquire for his health. He made quite incoherent replies to her questions, and seemed disturbed by her presence. She at length said:

"I hope that you have concluded to accept employ of my husband, and remain with us."

"I am no longer wanted," he answered, hoarsely, rising from his seat to go to the window.

As he did so, something from his pocket fell to the floor, with rather a sharp sound. The eyes of the young contractor were at once riveted upon this object; the wife also gazed, with uplifted hands. Augustus Reid turned about, and saw what had so moved them. He stood motionless, gazing in their faces. There, on the floor, right before them all, lay the strip of scarlet broad-cloth, bearing, in glistening white bead letters, the name, "Nathalie Norton." In bold relief, in startling distinctness, there it lay!

The young contractor, with hurried breath, at length exclaimed: "Where did you get that name? How came you by it?"

Augustus Reid answered, in broken tones, as if he made a great effort to give utterance to the words:

"It is the name of the young white girl that was dwelling in my father's cabin. She wrought it, and gave it to me not long ago."

"Found! found!" cried the lumberman; and turning to his wife, he added: "Dimple, why did we never once dream that the Indians had carried off our Nattie?"

"But your name is not Norton," said Augustus Reid.

"No, it is Nesmith. My sister, who was a mere babe when I left my father's house, had our mother's maiden name, 'Nathalie Norton.' I am certain that it is the same. She may have had her own reasons for omitting her full name when she wrought this portion of it. But we can soon determine whether I am right or not."

"How?" asked Augustus Reid.

The young couple glanced at each other; the wife opened the bed-room door and peeped in; then, approaching her husband, she whispered:

"It is not best to waken her to-night; but may not our guest takea peep to see if he will recognize the face on the bed-room pillow?"

"You know she is very timid, and unwilling to see strangers," the husband remarked, aloud.

"If she is here," said the young man, approaching with an anxious air, "give me one look, and I will depart. Please do me the justice to believe that I had no hand in her abduction, and it has been the hope of my life to see her restored to her friends."

The young wife, at a glance from her husband, now swung open the bed-room door, and the youth looked in on the sleeper.

"It is Nathalie," he said, and at once drew back, lifting his blanket from the lounge.

"You certainly do not think of leaving us now," said Mr. Nesmith.

"It is better," he answered; "I should prefer it. One thing more I would ask, however. I think you can have no objection to following my wishes in this respect. Nathalie, your sister, has never known me as the son of my father, the old chief, North Wind; in the very few times we have met,—only three in all, I believe,—I have been to her Augustus Reid. Let me continue thus."

Mr. Nesmith bowed, and said:

"I have no objection to this, certainly. But you muet not think of leaving us at present. You have recognized Nattie; we wish to see her recognize you. My father will be here before many days; he will wish to thank you for having restored to him his lost child."

"But she will not be restored to him through my efforts," said the young man; "nor did I bring her to you."

"You have revealed her identity, which is the same," said the wife.

"That you could have discovered at any moment by simply asking her name," said the youth; "and she must soon have learned that your name is the same as hers, and would then have made herself known without any asking."

"I don't know about that; I doubt if she would," said Mr. Nesmith; "for you know, wife, how she has shrunk from being questioned as to her name, and seemed afraid that it might be known."

"It can not be that she does not long to be restored to her friends," said Augustus Reid.

"I am thinking of the delightful surprise which we have in store for father, when he shall arrive," said the young wife.

"True," responded the husband. "I recollect that he quite doted upon Nattie, when she was a little thing; and I have always heard, in later years, by letters from my married sister, who lives near the old place, that his regard for her seemed to increase with years. Indeed, it was so excessive as to threaten harm to the child. He humored and petted her so much, that she was likely to grow up willful and spoiled. I know that she had become a trial in the house; a disobedient, ill-natured girl, at the time of her disappearance. The baby, which I never saw, had to be kept away from home, owing to her rough usage. She was, also, unkind to mother, in her illness, and even the Irish girl complained loudly of Miss Nattie's general laziness and insubordination."

Augustus Reid seemed surprised to hear such words as these, and said that "he thought Nathalie very different from this description."

"So, indeed, this sick girl is," said the wife. "I never saw a child so gentle and patient, yet so brave in the midst of pain; and this I have often said to Robert."

"You speak truly," was the response. "If this proves lasting, Nattie's captivity will be a blessing in disguise. Now that mother is gone, father greatly needs some one to keep his house, and be company and solace for him in his lonely hours. All this Nattie can be, better than anybody else, if this experience has taught her to control her temper and submit patiently to trials."

"But it seems strange to me," Mr. Nesmith continued, turning toward Augustus Reid, "that your father should have taken Nattie off. I have known of him for years, and never heard aught of harm attributed to his character. He was always considered honest and honorable among our people."

The young man colored painfully, as he answered:

"The Indian nature is full of strange fancies and superstitions. My father has never been addicted to dishonest acts; indeed, I think this is the one great offense of his life."

"He must have had some strong motive, then, for committing it," said Mr. Nesmith. "No ordinary consideration would have swayed him thus."

"So it would seem," was the evasive answer, immediately followed by an inquiry as to how far distant the home of Mr. Nesmith's father lay?

The youth showed surprise when the answer was given:

"Three hundred miles."