darling.”
And yet even now, standing on the snow-covered sidewalk on Pleasant Street, he was too shy to follow the promptings of his bursting heart, and take her in his arms. For all the effusions of their secret letters, they had not yet kissed.
“Be patient,” Mabel whispered. “Our time will come.”
• • •
When Mabel visited the Homestead, carrying with her the painting of Indian pipes done for Emily, she talked with Vinnie about Sue.
“Why is it that Sue and Austin seem so distant from each other?” she asked.
“There’s no mystery there,” said Vinnie. “Sue’s always had a sharp tongue. Would you want to be married to that old scratch?”
“But she’s so lively! Her house is always so gay!”
“Gay, you call it? It’s empty vessels make most noise. Poor Austin has to run away to us here. You should hear what Emily has to say about Sue! And they used to be the closest friends, back when she was Sue Gilbert.”
“What does Emily say?”
“She says Sue married an establishment. All she cared for was the house. Poor Austin! We’ve watched him shrink over the years, like a starving mouse.”
“How can anyone not love him?”
“You know that, my dear. I know it. Emily knows it. But Sue has her carriage and her children and her parties, and need not trouble herself over Austin anymore.”
“If that’s really so,” said Mabel, keeping her eyes lowered, “would you say he has the right to take love where he can find it?”
“I would say,” said Vinnie fiercely, “that whenever any of us meet with love in this pitiful world, it is our right to enjoy it, and our duty to return it.”
“And does your sister think as you do?”
“Emily respects passion in all its forms.”
• • •
In response to Mabel’s flower painting, Emily sent through a note for Mabel, containing a poem.
I cannot make an Indian Pipe but please accept a Humming Bird.
A Route of Evanescence
With a revolving Wheel—
A Resonance of Emerald—
A Rush of Cochineal—
And every Blossom on the Bush
Adjusts its tumbled Head—
The mail from Tunis probably
An easy Morning’s Ride—
That without suspecting it you should send me the preferred flower of life seems almost supernatural, and the sweet glee that I felt at meeting it I could confide to none—I still cherish the clutch with which I bore it from the ground when a wondering child, an unearthly booty, and maturity only enhances mystery, never decreases it—
Mabel didn’t understand the poem, but she thrilled to the hint in the note that Emily felt her to be a kindred spirit. Now she could be sure that she had allies in the Homestead. At the same time, Sue continued to include her in all the gatherings she hosted at the Evergreens. At Sue’s request, Mabel gave Mattie lessons on the piano. And unperceived by either of them, shy young Ned’s admiration for Mrs. Todd grew into a secret passion.
One crisp December day Mabel joined the family, which on this occasion comprised Sue, Ned, and Mattie, on a sleigh ride. They bowled at a great pace down the Sunderland road and over the half-frozen Mill River, their breath smoky in the air, their cheeks pink. Mabel wore a fur-trimmed hood tight round her face, her eyes shining brightly with the excitement of the ride. Ned, who was driving, saw her delight and urged the horses on, until Sue had to call on him, laughing, to slow down.
“You’ll have us all in the ditch, you foolish boy! What am I tosay to Mr. Todd when he returns, if he finds a wife broken in two?”
“What do I care for Mr. Todd?” cried Ned. “I don’t care if he never returns!”
At the bridge they climbed down from the sleigh and threw snowballs over the ice, competing to see who could make their snowball slide the farthest. Ned discovered that the tighter the snow was packed, the farther it slid over the ice. He made a snowball for Mabel, and she threw it, and by a lucky throw it outpaced all the others.
“But it was
And yet even now, standing on the snow-covered sidewalk on Pleasant Street, he was too shy to follow the promptings of his bursting heart, and take her in his arms. For all the effusions of their secret letters, they had not yet kissed.
“Be patient,” Mabel whispered. “Our time will come.”
• • •
When Mabel visited the Homestead, carrying with her the painting of Indian pipes done for Emily, she talked with Vinnie about Sue.
“Why is it that Sue and Austin seem so distant from each other?” she asked.
“There’s no mystery there,” said Vinnie. “Sue’s always had a sharp tongue. Would you want to be married to that old scratch?”
“But she’s so lively! Her house is always so gay!”
“Gay, you call it? It’s empty vessels make most noise. Poor Austin has to run away to us here. You should hear what Emily has to say about Sue! And they used to be the closest friends, back when she was Sue Gilbert.”
“What does Emily say?”
“She says Sue married an establishment. All she cared for was the house. Poor Austin! We’ve watched him shrink over the years, like a starving mouse.”
“How can anyone not love him?”
“You know that, my dear. I know it. Emily knows it. But Sue has her carriage and her children and her parties, and need not trouble herself over Austin anymore.”
“If that’s really so,” said Mabel, keeping her eyes lowered, “would you say he has the right to take love where he can find it?”
“I would say,” said Vinnie fiercely, “that whenever any of us meet with love in this pitiful world, it is our right to enjoy it, and our duty to return it.”
“And does your sister think as you do?”
“Emily respects passion in all its forms.”
• • •
In response to Mabel’s flower painting, Emily sent through a note for Mabel, containing a poem.
I cannot make an Indian Pipe but please accept a Humming Bird.
A Route of Evanescence
With a revolving Wheel—
A Resonance of Emerald—
A Rush of Cochineal—
And every Blossom on the Bush
Adjusts its tumbled Head—
The mail from Tunis probably
An easy Morning’s Ride—
That without suspecting it you should send me the preferred flower of life seems almost supernatural, and the sweet glee that I felt at meeting it I could confide to none—I still cherish the clutch with which I bore it from the ground when a wondering child, an unearthly booty, and maturity only enhances mystery, never decreases it—
Mabel didn’t understand the poem, but she thrilled to the hint in the note that Emily felt her to be a kindred spirit. Now she could be sure that she had allies in the Homestead. At the same time, Sue continued to include her in all the gatherings she hosted at the Evergreens. At Sue’s request, Mabel gave Mattie lessons on the piano. And unperceived by either of them, shy young Ned’s admiration for Mrs. Todd grew into a secret passion.
One crisp December day Mabel joined the family, which on this occasion comprised Sue, Ned, and Mattie, on a sleigh ride. They bowled at a great pace down the Sunderland road and over the half-frozen Mill River, their breath smoky in the air, their cheeks pink. Mabel wore a fur-trimmed hood tight round her face, her eyes shining brightly with the excitement of the ride. Ned, who was driving, saw her delight and urged the horses on, until Sue had to call on him, laughing, to slow down.
“You’ll have us all in the ditch, you foolish boy! What am I tosay to Mr. Todd when he returns, if he finds a wife broken in two?”
“What do I care for Mr. Todd?” cried Ned. “I don’t care if he never returns!”
At the bridge they climbed down from the sleigh and threw snowballs over the ice, competing to see who could make their snowball slide the farthest. Ned discovered that the tighter the snow was packed, the farther it slid over the ice. He made a snowball for Mabel, and she threw it, and by a lucky throw it outpaced all the others.
“But it was
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