Nattie Nesmith/Chapter 2

by Sophia Homespun

 

Chapter II.

Flight.

HEN father gets home I shall have somebody to pity me, and care for me," Nattie kept thinking, as the long, slow hours wore away, and even ing approached.

It filled her with anger and jealousy to see the care and attention bestowed on 'mother's room,' while she sat, quite unnoticed, in her corner. She began to feel herself to be the most abused person in the house. No doubt, her face smarted; but that was a trifle, compared with the serious effects of the fit of coughing upon her invalid mother. The poor woman was quite prostrated from the loss of blood. She was slowly failing from consumption, and the doctor did not know but this might prove the last blow.

While Nattie watched the window, anxious for her father's coming, her married sister drove up to the door, with her husband. This was not a sight that afforded Nattie much pleasure, for she was not a favorite with her sister; and as for Mr. Stone, the husband, he had once given Nattie a severe whipping for refusing to obey him, when she was visiting at his house. This Nattie never forgot, and both feared and disliked him ever afterwards.

"I don't see what they are here for," she thought, as they alighted and entered the front door.

Pretty soon her sister came into the kitchen, looking very sad, and approached the corner where Nattie sat. She looked at her in silence for a while. This vexed Nattie, for she read reproach in the eyes.

"I wish you would go away, Susan, and let me alone," she said, fretfully; "for I hate to have anybody stand and stare at me, as you do, and not say a word."

"How do you do, Nathalie?" asked Mrs. Stone.

"I am scalded almost to death; but nobody cares, or does anything for me; though father will when he comes."

"Father is not coming to-night, so the doctor called and told us to hasten to mother, and remain till his return," said Mrs. Stone.

"Oh, dear! but father will come to-morrow, won't he!"

"No; not unless mother is worse, and we send for him. He has gone to a distant place to buy some lumber."

"I shall die, if he don't get back soon," said Nattie, groaning.

"How do you feel?" asked her sister, not knowing but her burns were deeper than Bridget had stated. The woeful look of the flushed face suggested severe injuries.

"I feel mad enough to bite your head off," was the quick, spiteful answer; "and I tell you again that I wish you would go away and let me alone."

Susan looked at the flashing eyes that were now turned up to her face, and said, sorrowfully:

"Nathalie, did you know that mother had had another bleeding spell?"

"Yes; what of it? She has them every little while, and always gets well again. What is it to spit up a little blood?—not half as bad as to have a scalded face, aching and smarting; but nobody minds anything about me."

"I am sorry that your face smarts, Nattie; but am more sorry that your disobedient conduct should have brought this very serious illness upon mother. I fear that she will never be as well as she was before."

"What do you say that I made her sick for?" demanded Nattie, sharply. "It was Biddy, who went off and didn't attend to the dinner, and it boiled over and filled mother's room with smoke, which set her to coughing; and in trying to stop the steam, I dropped the great, heavy potato kettle, and scalded me so dreadfully."

"Ah, Nattie, I know the whole story from a safer tongue than yours," responded the sister, sadly. "It grieves me much to think of the harm which your willful disobedience has occasioned. I hope that this will be a warning to you, and that, henceforth, as long as mother lives, you will do her bidding. If you mind no one else, Nattie, do mind your dying mother, so that when she is gone you may not have to regret your unkindness to her."

Nattie put on a most sullen, angry look, and turned spitefully away from her sister. Susan returned to the sick-room, leaving Nattie to nurse her wrath alone. No sooner was the little girl thus left, than she rose from her seat and ran out of doors. Bridget, entering the kitchen a moment after, missed her, but supposed that she was somewhere in the house, and would be ready to join the family at the evening meal, which she now busied herself in preparing.

When Mr. Stone and his wife were called to supper, no Nattie was to be found.

"Shure, an' what shall we be afther doin'?" said Biddy. "The child must be gone clane daft, to clear out when she knew I was goin' to bake waffles for tay; for she is more fond o' them nor nothin' else."

"Leave her alone," said Susan. "She is angry because I reproved her for disobeying mother, and thus causing her sickness. No doubt she has hid away, thinking that we shall be alarmed, and search for her. I know Nattie's ways pretty well. She will come back when she sees that no notice is taken of her absence. But don't let it come to mother's knowledge that she is missing; it might cause her unnecessary worry."

"It is meself that will be careful that it don't reach your poor mother's ears, Misthress Susan," said Biddy, officiously placing her nicely browned waffles and shining tea-urn on the table.

The young husband and wife commenced eating their supper, thinking it quite likely that Nattie would come in and take her usual place before the meal was over. But she did not come. Supper was cleared away, the doctor made the evening call, the clock pointed to the hour of nine; still, no Nattie. The house, barn and grounds were carefully searched. She was nowhere about the premises. Biddy was wild. It was necessary to keep her out of the sick-room, for the fright and terror of her honest face would be marked by the faintest eye.

"She must be sperited away," said the ignorant, superstitious girl; "for she never could have put herself out o' sight and hearin' so quick, without help. I'm sore afraid we never shall lay eyes on Miss Nattie again. Bad she was, at times, for shure, but then, a bright, gay creathur, afther all, and her poor father's joy. What will that jintleman say when he knows it all?"

Mr. Stone and his wife consulted together. They both believed that Nattie had hidden herself away, in a spirit of anger and jealousy, for the sake of making them trouble; but, as she was a little girl, they knew not into what difficulty and danger her own rashness might bring her, and felt it incumbent upon them to make search for her without delay. Susan accordingly asked Bridget if Nattie had any particular friend of her own age, on whom she would be likely to make an evening call. Biddy could think of none, nor did she ever know Miss Nattie to be out of an evening by herself before.

"Hasn't she gone into Mr. Hartwell's to see Hattie?" asked Susan.

"I can't think she has, Miss," said Biddy; "for she and Miss Hattie was niver friendly, and to-day she wouldn't even go to carry the cup of jelly to the poor, sick childer; but, if ye thinks best, I'll run over this minute and ask if she is there."

"Perhaps my husband had better go, and you and I will remain with mother," said Susan, looking at Biddy's wild face.

"You are right, Miss," answered the girl; "for I'm that scared and flustered, I hardly know what I'm about."

"There is no great cause for alarm," said Susan, calmly; "Nattie is probably safe in some neighbor's house, feeling not a little elated at the thought of the trouble which she is giving us. I am sorry that such is her disposition; but you know it, as well as I do, Biddy."

"Yes, Misthress Stone, 't is thrue; Miss Nattie is a pretty high, naughty girl," said Biddy; "but I should be woful sorry to have harm come to her, for I hope she will get over her bad ways one o' these days, and make a smart woman." Now till this minute, I haven't thought to be askin' ye for a word about her little sister that ye keeps with ye, at your house,—Tiny, as we calls her here at home. Has she been thrivin' wid ye these many blessed days?"

"Tiny is well, and growing fast. We thought it best not to bring her with us to-day; she is an active, restless child, and makes a good deal of noise. I thought that she and Nattie might annoy mother; but my husband will go home to-morrow, and, probably, bring Tiny back with him, as I shall remain here till father's return, or till mother is better,—if she ever is any better."

These last words were uttered in a low, sad voice.

"Shure, an' ye don't think but that the misthress is going to get up again!" asked Biddy, in fresh alarm.

"I hope she may; though she seems very low, at present," was the answer. "Perhaps you had better remain here, Biddy, while I go in and see her. She may think strange of our long absence from the room."

Biddy nodded her head affirmatively, and sat down near the stove, bowing her face on her hands.

When Susan returned to the apartment, the invalid's eyes were roaming from one object to another, in a strange, bewildered manner. She did not seem to notice her daughter at first, nor did she make any response until her name had been spoken several times.

"What is the matter, mother?" said the daughter, anxiously; "you see me, don't you, and hear my voice?"

"Nattie, don't crack filberts with your teeth," said the invalid. "I've told you not to do it, many times."

Susan thought best to humor this fancy, and responded, in a voice as like Nattie's as she could assume:

"Well, I won't, mother."

But this answer was so unlike any that Nattie would have made, that the sick woman looked up quickly, and recognized her eldest daughter.

"I have been wandering and dreaming," she said. "I thought Nattie was cracking nuts here, as she often does. Where is she?"

"She is not here now."

"Oh, gone to bed, I suppose. I should have liked to say good-night to her before she went. Poor, wayward child! I fear that she is strewing her own path with thorns. What time is it, Susan?"

"It is not very late in the evening, yet," was the rather evasive answer.

"Did Nattie get hurt to-day, when she dropped the kettle?"

"Not much; the steam made her face and hands smart a little."

"I wish you had brought Tiny with you. Sometimes I think that Nattie would be better if her younger sister was at home with her."

"You know that you sent Tiny away because Nattie teased and vexed her so much," said Susan.

"Yes; but Nattie is older now; she has felt the sorrow of being alone, too. I think she would better appreciate Tiny's company."

"Austin will bring her to-morrow, if you wish, and let her stay as long as I remain; then we can see how the two get along together."

"Yes, that will be a good way to do. I think Nattie needs some company near her own age. I feel very anxious about her. It would be harder to die and leave her than all the rest of my family, for she is the least fitted to be left without a mother."

"We hope you will be spared to us all for some years, yet, mother," said Susan, turning away to conceal a tear.

The feeble woman only sighed. There was the sound of an opening door. Susan started rather abruptly.

"Who is coming?" asked the invalid.

"It is Austin, my husband; he has been out a little while, and has just come in. I will go into the kitchen and tell him to be more quiet, lest his noise should disturb you. I see you look sleepy, and hope you will get some rest."

Susan went out. There stood her husband alone, looking at her with wide, staring eyes.

"I have called at a dozen places, but can't find her," he said.