Nattie Nesmith/Chapter 3

by Sophia Homespun

 

Chapter III.

Lost.

HE dark night is stealing on; the beat of the heavy March rain sounds dreary against the windows of the sick-room, where the mother lies in a transient, fitful slumber, watched over by the elder daughter and her husband. The sick woman knows not as yet but Nattie sleeps, as usual, in her little bed-room that opens out of the kitchen; but the sleeper there to-night is a heavier one than Nattie. Her loud, long-drawn breathing greets the ears of the watchers. It is Irish Bridget, who was too timid to go to her usual sleepng chamber, aloft, "with the poor childer lost abroad, nobody knew where," as she said; and yet, she no sooner touched Nattie's little cot than she forgot her fright in slumber.

When, about midnight, the sleep of Mrs. Nesmith seemed deepest, the watchers drew back toward the grate, and spoke in soft whispers concerning the fugitive.

"What a driving storm!" said the young wife, with a shudder; "and how do we know but that poor, misguided child is abroad in it? So young, so ignorant of the world! what course will she take, and what will become of her?"

"I hardly think that she is out in this storm," returned the husband; "Nattie is willful, and rash enough, when her temper is up; but she is precious tender of her own little body, after all. Don't you know what an ado she made, to-day, over her slight scald? and how wrathful she was because there was not more done for her relief? She thought her case much worse than poor mother's. It was this jealousy, combined with your reproof of her disobedience, that started her off, I suppose. She found that her father was not coming home for a few days, and that we were to be here till he arrived. The prospect was not agreeable, so she concluded to take herself out of the way, give us as much extra trouble as possible, and return when she might feel disposed."

"But, Austin, where can she have gone? you have called at about all the places where she is ever known to go."

"Yes; and I inquired of people on the street, who know her well, if they had seen her. It was daylight when she left; yet no one saw her, as near as I can learn. My notion is that she secreted herself somewhere, till darkness came on, and then went directly to some place which she had in mind,—most likely a solitary one,—where she intends to remain till it is her pleasure to return. If there be any untenanted houses about town, I intend to search them to-morrow."

"Nathalie would never dare stay in an unoccupied house, alone, all night," said Susan. "I am sure that I should not have had the courage at her age."

"But you never had her temper to back your courage," returned the husband. "You must remember that Nattie is angry, and, when that is the case, she dares do almost anything."

"I guess that this dreary midnight in a lone house will take her temper down pretty low," said the young wife. "And she wore nothing away but a light blanket. She will suffer bitterly, and, perhaps, get cold and die from the effects of this rashness."

"Believe me, Nattie will manage in some way to keep her precious little body comfortable," said Mr. Stone.

"She can't possibly do that, if she is out of doors now, or in a cold house," returned the wife. "But I am thinking what we shall do, if she is not found to-morrow. We can not keep it from mother, and we ought not; yet I fear the effect of such tidings, in her present condition."

"If to-morrow's search does not result in Nattie's discovery, I shall telegraph for father to come home; and he will take whatever course he sees fit; although, as far as I am concerned, I should not be afraid to wait patiently a week or two, and trust to Nattie's coming back of her own accord, when she got over her freak, and considered that we were all sufficiently punished for our lack of care and attention to' her important little self; but I shall not dictate a course for her nearer relatives to pursue."

"Father would go frantic at any such proposal," said Susan. "I believe he thinks more of Nattie than of all the rest of us."

"No doubt he will make great efforts to discover her at once," said Mr. Stone; "yet he may have to wait the little lady's own time, after all. Nattie has both cunning and willfulness."

"I should as soon have thought of running away, myself, as that she would attempt anything of the kind," said Susan, going softly toward her mother's couch.

The invalid moaned in her slumber, as if from pain or disturbing dreams. The daughter thought that she might need to have her position changed, and they turned her, as gently as possible, over to her left side; but the movement caused her to awake.

"I am sorry that we have aroused you, mother," said the daughter, "but you were breathing rather heavily, and we thought that changing your position would bring you ease."

"I am glad that you awoke me," the invalid said, "for I was having a troubled dream; and it seemed to me like a reality. Hasn't something very distressing happened?"

"Your sudden illness is so to us," Susan answered.

"That is not what I meant," said the mother.

"Nothing else as distressing as this has occurred," said Mr. Stone.

"I am glad of it, then," said the sufferer, "and think I will go to sleep again."

There was a pause, during which the young husband and wife glanced at each other; then Susan drew very near and whispered:

"If anything trying does occur, mother, would you want us to tell it to you, weak as you are now?"

The sick woman opened her eyes, and regarded her daughter earnestly.

"What makes you ask that?" she questioned.

"What you have just been saying helped to put it into my head, I presume; but you need not answer the question, or think more of it, if it troubles you."

"If anything happens to my husband or family, I shall want to know it," the sick woman said, decidedly. "It would be better for me to know the exact truth than to suffer from uncertainty or suspense." Let nothing important be kept from me.

"I will regard what you say, mother," said the daughter; "so now try and get another good nap before morning."

When the invalid slept, the two again retired to the grate, and Susan said, in a tone of anxiety:

"I really hope that Nattie may be found to-morrow; so that mother may be saved the shock of hearing of her flight."

"I hope so, too," returned the husband; "yet I think she will bear it with more fortitude than you anticipate."

"At all events, Tiny shall be brought home to-morrow; that will afford her some diversion," said Susan.

"One can hardly think that Nattie and Tiny are sisters," remarked Mr. Stone. "One all storm, and the other all sunshine. Was Nattie always so tempery?"

"Yes; from the cradle. Her baby anger was quite terrible to look upon. Poor Nattie! I don't know what will become of her. Much suffering must certainly be hers before that fierce will is broken. Mother has truly said that Nattie causes her more anxiety than all the rest of the family. Father thinks that she will outgrow her temper, but I fear not, easily. Poor child! I feel as if every dash of this cold, searching rain was beating on her little, unsheltered form. It is imagination I suppose; still, I can't get rid of the feeling."

"You had better lie down on the lounge, here by the fire, and get a nap," said the husband. "You are quite worn out with the fatigue and excitement of the day. I will watch."

The young wife was glad to comply with this request, and, contrary to her expectations, fell into a refreshing slumber, from which she did not awake till daylight had appeared.