Leah Mordecai E-Book

Belle Kendrick Abbott

• Herausgeber: Augusto Baldassari
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Isabella "Belle" Kendrick Abbott (November 3, 1842 – December 27, 1893) was an American author from the Deep South, whose only published novel, Leah Mordecai, was issued in 1875. A native of Atlanta, she married Benjamin F. Abbott, and lived for many years on Peachtree Street, between Cain Street (subsequently renamed International Boulevard) and Harris Street.

Leseprobe

Leah Mordecai

Belle Kendrick Abbott

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER V.

CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER VIII.

CHAPTER IX.

CHAPTER X.

CHAPTER XI.

CHAPTER XII.

CHAPTER XIII.

CHAPTER XIV.

CHAPTER XV.

CHAPTER XVI.

CHAPTER XVII.

CHAPTER XVIII.

CHAPTER XIX.

CHAPTER XX.

CHAPTER XXI.

CHAPTER XXII.

CHAPTER XXIII.

CHAPTER XXIV.

CHAPTER XXV.

CHAPTER XXVI.

CHAPTER XXVII.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

CHAPTER XXIX.

CHAPTER XXX.

CHAPTER XXXI.

CHAPTER XXXII.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

CHAPTER XL

CHAPTER XLI.

CHAPTER XLII.

CHAPTER XLIII.

CHAPTER XLIV.

CHAPTER I.

THE giant clock on the wall in the assembly-room of Madam Truxton's fashionable school had marked the hour for dismission.

Groups of restless, anxious pupils stood about the apartment, or were gathered at the windows, watching the rain that had been falling in copious showers since morning. All were eager to go, yet none dared brave the storm.

Under the stone archway of the entrance to the assembly-hall, a group of four maidens stood chatting, apart from the rest, watching the rain, and impatient for its cessation.

"I know my father will either send my brother, or come for me himself," said Helen Le Grande, "so I need not fear the rain." Then, turning to the soft-eyed Jewess who stood by her side, she added, "When the carriage comes, Leah, you can take a seat with me. I'll see that you are safely deposited at home."

"Thank you, Helen, but it won't hurt me to walk. Nothing hurts meLeah Mordecai the despised." Then, averting her face, the young girl gazed abstractedly into the street, and began humming in a low tone.

To these words of the young Jewess there was no reply. A certain sort of emphasis in her utterance seemed to forbid any inquiry, and silence any word of censure that might arise to the lips of her companions.

"How mean of me, not to offer a seat in the carriage to Lizzie Heartwell, too," thought Helen after a moment's reflection; "but I dared not, on account of my brother, who has so repeatedly urged me to make equals only of the rich. He little knows how I love Lizzie Heartwell, and whether she be rich or poor I know not, neither do I care."

"I say, girls," at length broke the silence, as the fourth member of the group, Bertha Levy, a Jewess too, spoke out, "think how stupid I am. Mamma has promised me a small tea-party to-morrow night, and this wretched rain had well-nigh caused me to forget it; but, thank fortune, it's giving way a little, and maybe we shall all get home after awhile. I'm desperately hungry! Of course, you will all promise me to come, and I shall expect you." Then, turning to Helen, she said, "Won't you?"

Helen assented.

"And you, Leah?"

"I will if I can. I am never sure of my movements, however."

"And you, dear Lizzie?"

"With the permission of my uncle and aunt; at any rate, I thank you for your kindness."

"Well, I shall expect you every one, and"

"There comes the carriage," shouted Helen, as the liveried coach of the wealthy judge rolled round the corner, and drove up in front of the spacious school-building. "I knew my father would not forget meyes, there is my brother."

The horses, thoroughly wet, looked dark and sleek as greyhounds, as they stood impatiently stamping the paving-stones, while a visible cloud of vapor rose from each distended nostril.

The coach door opened, and Emile Le Grande, with handsome, manly figure clad in a gray military suit, and equally handsome face, stepped out, and approached the group so impatiently watching the progress of the storm.

"Good morning, Miss Mordecai; I am happy that we meet again," said the gentleman, politely bowing.

"Thank you, sir; but your presence rather surprises us," replied Leah.

"I trust, though, I am not an unwelcome intruder upon this fair group?"

"Allow me to remind you, my brother, that my friends, Miss Heartwell and Miss Levy, are also present," said Helen rather reproachfully.

Emile acknowledged the reproof and the courtesy with an apology and a smile, and then added, "To Miss Mordecai's charms I owe the breach of politeness."

Leah's face flushed crimson, and her eye sparkled more brightly than ever at these flattering words of the young cadet; but she made no reply.

"Come, Helen, let's go," at length said the brother. "The horses are impatient. C‘sar is wet, and I guess you are tired, too." Then, turning to Leah, he continued, "Miss Mordecai, will you honor us with your company till we reach your father's house, where I pledge myself to deposit you safely?"

"Oh! yes, Leah will go; I have already asked her," said Helen. Then, after a moment's preparation, the two young friends stepped into the carriage.

"Good-by again, girls," said Bertha Levy gayly, as the coach door closed; "riding is rather better than walking, such a day as this. Remember to-morrow night." Then, with a dash, the carriage was out of sight.

"Well, Lizzie," resumed Bertha, smiling significantly, for she could not but observe Helen's manifest preference in offering Leah a seat with her, "we need not stand here any longer. I see that the rain, out of consideration for us, is about to cease, and I don't think any coach is coming for me. Do you expect one?"

To this characteristic remark, Lizzie Heartwell replied smilingly, "I guess, Bertha, with umbrellas, overshoes, and care, we can reach home without serious damage."

"But care is not a coach, you know, my friend, no matter how we turn it," said Bertha laughingly, as she donned the wrapping and overshoes. "I am as hungry as a wolf, and I fear mamma will let that young brother of mine eat all my dinner, if I am too slow in getting there. Boys are perfect cormorants, anyhow. Come, let's go at once."

The two girls stepped out into the slippery street, and turned their faces homeward. "I am glad, Lizzie," continued Bertha, as they turned corner after corner, "that our paths run together so far; having company is so much better than being alone this forlorn afternoon. And remember, I desire to know the answer to my invitation as early as possible. To-morrow is my brother Isaac's confirmation day, and we must all be promptly at the synagogue at nine o'clock."

"You shall know to-night, Bertha, and I will be with you, if possible. But here, before we part, let's stop and buy some bananas of old Maum Cinda. She is always so grateful for a fivepence dropped by a school-girl."

By this time the two girls were standing in front of the well-known fruit-stall of the old blind colored woman known far and near through the Queen City as "Maum Cinda." For years, hers had been the important market for supplying the school-children with luscious fruits, unimpeachable taffy, and ground-pea candy.

"An' bless de Lord, is it Miss Lizzie?" said the good-natured woman, as the sound of Lizzie Heartwell's voice fell upon her ear in the kindly spoken salutation.

"An' w'at will you have to-day, chile?"

"Some bananas, Maum Cindatwo for me, and two for my friend here, Miss Bertha Levy."

"Oh! yes, Miss Bertha," replied the woman, courtesying, "an' maybe I have seen Miss Bertha, but it's the sweet voice of Miss Lizzie that the old blind woman remembers"handing the bananas across the wide board that protected her tempting wares from public incursions.

"You flatter me, Maum Cinda; but I hope the rainy day has not interfered much with your trade. Here"and extending her slender white hand, Lizzie dropped the jingling pennies into the aged, wrinkled one that opened to receive them.

"God bless you, chile. You neber forget His poor ones, de blind. God bless you!"

"Good morning, Maum Cinda."

"Good-by, young ladies, good-by." And the last glimpse the two receding friends had of the old woman, she was still profoundly bowing and courtesying in acknowledgment of their remembrance.

Then the friends parted for the day, each one taking the most direct course to her home, and soon both were safely sheltered from the drizzling rain and chilling wind.

CHAPTER II.

TWO pale lilies and two royal roses upon a stem, would scarcely form a more beautiful or striking group than did the four maidens standing together under the stone archway of the school-room, on that gloomy day at Madam Truxton's.

The fair hair and blue eyes of Helen Le Grande and Lizzie Heartwell distinctly contrasted with the jetty locks and eyes of Bertha Levy and Leah Mordecaithe beauty of neither style being in any degree marred by such close contact.

The blonde beauty of the first two maidens bespoke their unmistakable Anglo-Norman blood and Christian descent, while the opposite cast of the others testified to their Jewish origin.

A casual observer even, would have decided that these four maidens were bound together by an unusual bond of friendshipan incongruous friendship it might have seemed, and yet it was not such.

Helen Le Grande, the eldest of the group by a few months, was scarcely eighteen years of age, as bright and gay a maiden as one could find in all the land, and the only daughter of Judge Le Grande, a lawyer of wealth and distinction.

Of immediate French descent, Judge Le Grande possessed in an eminent degree the peculiarities of his gay, volatile ancestry. Proud of his children, and ambitious for their future, in his lavish bounty he withheld nothing he deemed necessary for their advancement in life.

Thus at eighteen, Helen Le Grande looked out upon life's opening sky as thoughtlessly as she would look upon the bright waters of the blue harbor that stretched before her father's mansion, where sky and water blended in a peaceful, azure expanse, little heeding or caring whether storms came, or sunshine rested on the deep. Bertha Levy, the little darked-eyed Jewess who stood by her side under the stone archway, was nothing more or less than a piquant little maiden, just turned seventeen, of amiable disposition and affectionate heart, but by no means partial to study, and always ready to glean surreptitiously from her books, any scraps of the lesson that might be useful, either to herself or her friends, in the ordeal of recitation.

Bertha's mother was a widow, whose circumstances allowed her children all the comforts and even many luxuries of life. She had reared them most rigidly in Hebrew faith. Lizzie Girardeau Heartwell, the next in the fair tableau, was the only member of the group who was not a native of the Queen City. It is no misstatement of fact to say that she was, indeed, the ruling spirit of Madam Truxton's entire school.

Dr. Heartwell, Lizzie's father, had lived in a distant State, and died when she was but a tender child. Her mother, a descendant of the Huguenots, was herself a native of the Queen City. But far away from her native home had Mrs. Heartwell's married life been spent, and Lizzie's young days, too, had passed in their quiet uneventful home at Melrose.

But at the age of fifteen, and three years prior to the opening of this story, under the kindly guardianship of her uncle, Lizzie Heartwell entered the popular finishing school of Madam Truxton.

Possessed of noble, heroic blood, and blessed with love that instilled into her young mind the principles of a brave, devoted ancestry, it was but natural that Lizzie Heartwell should exhibit an unusual development of heart and mind at a very tender age, and give early promise of a braver, nobler womanhood, when Time should set his seal upon her brow.

Reluctantly the heart turns to read the half-written history in the sad face of Leah Mordecai, the fourth maiden standing pictured against the stone under the archway. She was of the unmistakable Jewish type, possessing the contour of face, the lustrous eye, the massive crown of hair, that so often distinguish and beautify the Hebrew maiden, wheresoever the sun may rise and set.

In the sadness that rested upon this young girl's face, one might dimly detect the half-extinguished flame of hope, that usually burns so brilliantly in the hearts of most young girls. But why this sadness no one could tell. Its cause was a mystery even to her friends. Benjamin Mordecai was an opulent banker, who for many years lived in solitary grandeur in his bachelor home. But in the process of time, he wedded the gentle Sarah David, and brought her to share with him his home and fortune.

Love had led to this marriage, and peace and happiness for a time, like sweet angels, seemed to have come to dwell evermore within the home. But time brought changes. After the lapse of a year and a half, the cherished Leah was born, and from that day the mother's health declined steadily for a twelvemonth, and then she was laid in the grave.

As the mother faded, the infant Leah thrived and flourished, filling the father's heart with anxious, tender love.

Among the inmates of the Mordecai home from the time of Mrs. Mordecai's declining health, was a young woman, Rebecca Hartz, who acted as house-keeper and general superintendent of domestic affairs. She had been employed by Mr. Mordecai for this important position, not so much on account of her competency to fill it, as to bestow a charity upon her unfortunate father, who constantly besought employment for his numerous children, among the more favored of his people.

Isaac Hartz was a butcher, whose slender income was readily exhausted by a burdensome family. Rebecca, his daughter, was a good-looking young woman of twenty at the time she entered Mr. Mordecai's family. Although coarse and ill-bred, she was also shrewd and designing, often making pretence of friendship and affection to gain her ends when in reality hatred and animosity were burning in her bosom. Such was Rebecca Hartz. Such the woman to usurp the household government, when the gentle Mrs. Mordecai had passed away.

CHAPTER III.

IN Mrs. Levy's attractive drawing-room, Bertha's guests were assembled for the tea-party.

Lizzie Heartwell, the first to arrive, was ushered into the brightly lighted room, to find Mrs. Levy the only occupant.