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- Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
- Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
- Sprache: Englisch
Grace Livingston Hill's "Marcia Schuyler" is a poignant exploration of faith, love, and personal growth set against the backdrop of early 20th-century America. Hill employs a vivid, lyrical style that captures the emotional nuances of her characters, particularly Marcia, a young woman facing societal expectations and personal dilemmas. The narrative is interwoven with elements of romance and moral conviction, reflective of the author's characteristic Christian values, while also resonating with the emerging themes of female independence prevalent during the time. Grace Livingston Hill, often referred to as the "Queen of American Romance," was a prolific author whose work focused largely on women's experiences and spiritual journeys. Drawing from her own deeply rooted Christian beliefs and life experiences, Hill's narratives often feature strong, relatable female protagonists seeking authenticity in their lives. "Marcia Schuyler" is a quintessential reflection of Hill's dedication to blending romance with moral and ethical lessons, particularly highlighting the triumph of faith over adversity. Readers seeking an engaging story that delicately balances romance with an exploration of self-discovery will find "Marcia Schuyler" to be a heartfelt and enriching read. Hill's ability to evoke empathy and inspire through her characters makes this novel not just a tale of love, but also an invitation to reflect on one's own values and choices. In this enriched edition, we have carefully created added value for your reading experience: - A succinct Introduction situates the work's timeless appeal and themes. - The Synopsis outlines the central plot, highlighting key developments without spoiling critical twists. - A detailed Historical Context immerses you in the era's events and influences that shaped the writing. - A thorough Analysis dissects symbols, motifs, and character arcs to unearth underlying meanings. - Reflection questions prompt you to engage personally with the work's messages, connecting them to modern life. - Hand‐picked Memorable Quotes shine a spotlight on moments of literary brilliance. - Interactive footnotes clarify unusual references, historical allusions, and archaic phrases for an effortless, more informed read.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020
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Marcia Schuyler
Table of Contents
Introduction
When conscience collides with convention, a quiet act of courage reshapes the course of several lives.
Marcia Schuyler, by Grace Livingston Hill, is an inspirational romance rooted in domestic fiction, set against the rhythms and rituals of a nineteenth-century American community. First published in the first decade of the twentieth century, it reflects the era’s appetite for morally serious yet emotionally tender narratives. Hill, known for weaving faith and everyday life into accessible storytelling, crafts a tale that feels both historically grounded and intimately human. The novel’s world of parlors, parish ties, and neighborly scrutiny provides a textured backdrop in which private choices carry public consequences and character is tested in the light of communal expectations.
The premise turns on a sudden crisis that arises at the threshold of a wedding, when a younger sister steps into an unforeseen role to preserve family honor and shield others from scandal. From this startling beginning, Hill develops a story that is more about the meanings of promise, duty, and kindness than about spectacle. The reader encounters a measured, reflective narrative voice, attentive to gestures and silences as much as to events. Expect a mood of restrained tension and quiet hope, with tender interpersonal moments building the emotional arc rather than dramatic twists or sensational turns.
At the heart of the novel lies a searching meditation on integrity: What does it mean to keep faith when circumstances change, and how do conscience and compassion inform that fidelity? Hill’s characters confront the friction between individual desire and collective norm, learning the cost of appearances and the weight of responsibility. The book explores sacrificial love in practical, everyday forms—speaking truth kindly, accepting duty without bitterness, and honoring others’ dignity. Without straying into didacticism, the narrative gently proposes that moral courage often begins in hidden places, and that a life ordered by principle can seed unexpected tenderness and trust.
Hill’s style blends period ambiance with simplicity of expression, making the setting accessible without feeling antiquated. Domestic detail—the cadence of visits, the etiquette of gatherings, the unspoken rules of reputation—functions as moral topography, mapping where characters may stumble or stand firm. Dialogue is decorous yet revealing, while the narration favors clarity over flourish, allowing small choices to register with cumulative force. Readers will notice an undercurrent of spiritual reflection that informs motives without overwhelming the plot, and a preference for inward transformation over outward drama. The result is a narrative experience that feels contemplative, humane, and quietly suspenseful.
For contemporary readers, the novel’s questions remain resonant: How do we navigate personal agency within social pressures, and what do we owe to one another when the easiest path would be self-protection? Marcia Schuyler invites reflection on the ethics of commitment, the boundaries of consent, and the possibility of love that grows from respect and responsibility. It also probes the gap between reputation and character, suggesting that genuine goodness is rarely loud. In a culture still negotiating public perception and private conviction, Hill’s story offers a thoughtful lens on courage practiced in ordinary rooms and on promises kept when they are hardest to keep.
Those drawn to historical romance with a reflective, faith-inflected core will find in Marcia Schuyler a patient, rewarding journey. Book clubs and readers interested in the interplay of social norms, moral choice, and emotional maturation can expect fertile ground for discussion. The novel offers an atmosphere of bygone manners without nostalgia’s haze, pairing gentleness with ethical clarity. It does not rush to answers but cultivates them through character and consequence, inviting readers to linger with the implications of one brave decision. Ultimately, the book promises a reading experience marked by warmth, conscience, and a steady, hopeful light.
Synopsis
Set in a quiet American town in the nineteenth century, Marcia Schuyler opens with the orderly rhythms of community life and the expectations surrounding a prominent wedding. Kate Schuyler, admired and courted, is engaged to David, a respected young businessman whose steady character has won local trust. Marcia, Kate’s younger sister, observes from the margins, known for her gentleness and sense of duty. The narrative establishes family ties, social customs, and the delicate balance between personal inclination and public obligation. Against this backdrop, neighbors prepare for celebration, unaware that an unforeseen choice will unsettle their assumptions and redirect several intertwined destinies.
On the day of the long-anticipated ceremony, an abrupt crisis disrupts the plans and threatens the Schuyler family’s honor. In the turmoil that follows, Marcia steps forward, accepting an unexpected role at great personal cost. The decision, practical and protective, reshapes the course of lives already knit to community opinion. The union proceeds under tense circumstances, marked by dignity and restraint rather than romance. David responds with measured kindness and resolve, while Marcia, conscious of appearances and duty, commits to maintaining integrity. The event becomes the novel’s hinge, setting in motion questions of loyalty, truth, and the meaning of promises publicly made.
In the early days of the marriage, the household settles into an arrangement that balances courtesy and distance. Marcia navigates a new home, learning each routine while respecting boundaries that both she and David consider necessary. The town watches closely, and friendly visits often conceal curiosity. Marcia strives for honesty without inviting gossip, careful to carry responsibilities with quiet competence. David, attentive yet reserved, focuses on work and the practical needs of the home. Their conversations, formal at first, emphasize mutual respect and a shared desire to do what is right. This careful calm underscores how fragile and provisional their understanding remains.
As seasons turn, Marcia grows into her position with patience. She masters tasks expected of a young mistress of the house, organizes hospitality that is warm but modest, and cultivates goodwill through thoughtful service to friends and neighbors. Subtle scenes show her resourcefulness: smoothing social awkwardness, remembering details others forget, and easing tensions without fanfare. Her kindness acquires quiet authority, earning trust in circles where opinions form quickly. David notices the steadiness beneath her youth, and their exchanges deepen, though both remain mindful of limits imposed by the past. The narrative highlights character tested in ordinary duties, where persistence signals emerging strength.
External pressures begin to intrude. Rumors surface about Kate’s choices and possible whereabouts, and some acquaintances take sides, weighing sympathy against scandal. David’s business travels and obligations complicate routines, leaving room for misunderstanding. A few visitors press for confidences, and not all motives are friendly. Marcia faces invitations that might lead to social entanglements, while well-meaning advisers offer conflicting counsel. The strain exposes how public judgment can shape private lives. Through brief miscommunications and near-mishaps, the story shows trust as a developing, fragile bond, dependent on clear words and considerate actions when reputation, grief, and curiosity converge in a close-knit community.
A dramatic incident—partly social, partly perilous—forces decisive action and reveals character under pressure. In the moment, Marcia’s calm courage contrasts with agitation around her, and David’s firm leadership steadies the scene. The aftermath clarifies for each what the other values most, lifting their relationship from careful politeness toward something more candid. Yet the complexity of their beginning remains, and the town’s memory lingers. The episode becomes a turning point, not by resolving all questions, but by showing what endurance looks like. From then on, choices carry clearer weight, and both weigh duty and affection with greater honesty about consequences.
Complications intensify when Kate reenters the narrative, bringing with her unresolved ties and expectations. Her presence unsettles established routines and reopens public debate about promises, loyalty, and the claims of the past. Conversations turn to law and conscience, and friends who once spoke freely now measure their words. Marcia faces the challenge of meeting family obligations with generosity, while protecting the dignity of her household. David must navigate conflicting duties without wounding those who rely on him. The situation tests everyone’s understanding of fairness and fidelity, and the community’s watchfulness becomes sharper as small choices begin to look like declarations.
Guided by counsel from steady elders and shaped by thoughtful reflection, the principals consider a path through conflict that honors truth without cruelty. The narrative emphasizes confession, candor, and the careful drawing of boundaries. Letters, sober visits, and restrained conversations replace rumor with clarity. Marcia and David, committed to what is right, confront the past directly, acknowledging mistakes and affirming obligations. Each step narrows the options until a resolution becomes possible, one that accounts for law, conscience, and the welfare of all involved. The closing movements preserve privacy and dignity, avoiding spectacle while allowing the characters to act with integrity.
Marcia Schuyler presents a story of honor shaped by everyday choices, where duty and compassion intersect under close public scrutiny. Without dwelling on sensational detail, it traces the cost of keeping one’s word and the quiet strength required to repair what sudden crisis unsettles. The novel’s message centers on character: steadfastness, truthful speech, and kindness that neither boasts nor retreats. Through its sequence—from disrupted vows to tested loyalty and deliberate reconciliation—it portrays growth as patient work. The result underscores that commitments, handled with humility and courage, can transform difficult beginnings into foundations for enduring trust and responsible love.
Historical Context
Grace Livingston Hill’s Marcia Schuyler is set in the early nineteenth century, in a small town culture characteristic of upstate New York during the 1820s–1830s. The world it evokes is one of Federal-style homes, horse-drawn stages, village merchants, and tightly knit congregations that regulate reputation and marriage. The Schuyler surname, long associated with Dutch-descended families around Albany and the Hudson–Mohawk corridor, anchors the story in a region transformed by new markets and pious social codes. The book’s domestic interiors, Sabbath routines, and emphasis on honor and kinship resemble communities threaded along the river roads connecting Albany, Troy, and canal-linked market towns.
The Market Revolution reshaped New York and the broader Mid-Atlantic between about 1815 and 1840, driven by canals, turnpikes, steamboats, and expanding credit networks. The Erie Canal opened on 26 October 1825, when Governor DeWitt Clinton staged the “Wedding of the Waters,” ceremonially linking Lake Erie to New York Harbor. Steamboats, pioneered by Robert Fulton on the Hudson in 1807, and stage lines connected inland villages to Albany and New York City. In the novel’s world, a conscientious merchant like David Spafford depends on those routes for goods and news. The rhythms of ordering, travel, and account-keeping in the story mirror this new commercial tempo.
The Second Great Awakening (c. 1790–1840) saturated upstate New York’s “Burned-over District” with revivalist preaching, most famously under Charles Grandison Finney in 1825–1835, including the Rochester revivals of 1830–1831. Evangelical growth swelled Baptist and Methodist membership, fostered Sabbath observance, and birthed voluntary societies for missions and reform. This religious climate prized conscience, conversion, and domestic piety. Marcia Schuyler channels that milieu: characters’ moral deliberations, church-centered social life, and language of duty reflect revival culture’s insistence that everyday choices carry spiritual weight. The heroine’s sacrificial decisions are framed as ethical acts consonant with an evangelical vocabulary of self-denial and fidelity.
Nineteenth-century marriage law shaped women’s options through the English-derived doctrine of coverture, which subsumed a married woman’s legal identity under her husband’s. In New York, meaningful change began with the Married Women’s Property Act of 1848 (expanded in 1860), while Pennsylvania enacted similar reforms in 1848. Before these statutes, property, contracts, and many legal claims were controlled by men or guardians. Breach-of-promise suits, widely recognized in the 1820s–1840s, allowed aggrieved parties to seek damages for broken engagements. Marcia Schuyler’s infamous wedding substitution is intelligible within that framework: preserving family honor and averting public scandal had tangible legal and economic stakes in such communities.
The Panic of 1837 destabilized the commercial world that small-town merchants inhabited. Precipitated by the Specie Circular of July 1836, a British credit contraction, and land speculation, banks suspended specie payments in May 1837. New York City saw unemployment estimates reach 20–25% in 1837–1838 and the Flour Riot erupted in February 1837 over soaring prices. Credit tightened across wholesaler–retailer networks from Albany to rural stores. Although the novel centers on domestic ethics, its mercantile background assumes hazards familiar to the era: long-distance notes, payment delays, and the moral premium placed on a shopkeeper’s honesty. David Spafford’s probity echoes the period’s ideal of commercial character.
Dutch-American heritage remained visible in the Hudson–Mohawk region well into the nineteenth century. Families like the Schuylers—among them Revolutionary War General Philip Schuyler (1733–1804) and his daughter Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton (1757–1854)—symbolized Albany’s patrician past, Dutch Reformed traditions, and kin-based social networks. Customs of hospitality, careful courtship, and communal reputation shaped expectations for behavior. By giving her protagonists the Schuyler name and situating them within a vigilant village, Hill evokes those legacies: a milieu where lineage, propriety, and public scrutiny intensify the stakes of a forsaken engagement and a hastily solemnized marriage, and where household management signals both virtue and status.
Temperance rose as a mass movement alongside revivalism. The American Temperance Society formed in Boston in 1826; the New York State Temperance Society consolidated statewide efforts in Utica in 1836; and the Washingtonian movement surged from Baltimore in 1840. Per capita alcohol consumption in the United States peaked around 1830 at roughly seven gallons of pure alcohol annually, provoking campaigns for moderation and, later, abstinence. The novel’s moral tone and its implicit warnings about improvidence and vice inhabit this reform atmosphere. Respectable households shunned tavern culture, and characters’ reputations hinge on sobriety and self-control—virtues temperance advocates framed as essential to domestic peace and economic stability.
By dramatizing a community’s response to a broken engagement, the book criticizes the coercive nexus of honor culture, coverture, and economic vulnerability that constrains women’s agency. It exposes how reputation functions as social currency—capable of ruining livelihoods—and how legal and ecclesiastical authorities legitimize remedies that prioritize public order over individual consent. The merchant’s integrity amid unstable credit markets doubles as a rebuke to speculative excess. In placing evangelical virtue against gossip, opportunism, and gendered dependency, Marcia Schuyler offers a quiet social critique: it endorses conscience and mutual accountability while revealing the human costs of rigid gender roles and communal surveillance in the early republic.
TOTHE DEAR MEMORY OFMY FATHERThe Rev. CHARLES MONTGOMERY LIVINGSTONWHOSE COMPANIONSHIP AND ENCOURAGEMENTHAVE BEEN MY HELP THROUGHTHE YEARS
Marcia Schuyler
Marcia Schuyler
CHAPTER I
The sun was already up and the grass blades were twinkling with sparkles of dew, as Marcia stepped from the kitchen door.
She wore a chocolate calico[1] with little sprigs of red and white scattered over it, her hair was in smooth brown braids down her back, and there was a flush on her round cheeks that might have been but the reflection of the rosy light in the East. Her face was as untroubled as the summer morning, in its freshness, and her eyes as dreamy as the soft clouds that hovered upon the horizon uncertain where they were to be sent for the day.
Marcia walked lightly through the grass, and the way behind her sparkled again like that of the girl in the fairy-tale[4] who left jewels wherever she passed.
A rail fence stopped her, which she mounted as though it had been a steed to carry her onward, and sat a moment looking at the beauty of the morning, her eyes taking on that far-away look that annoyed her stepmother when she wanted her to hurry with the dishes, or finish a long seam before it was time to get supper.
She loitered but a moment, for her mind was full of business, and she wished to accomplish much before the day was done. Swinging easily down to the other side of the fence she moved on through the meadow, over another fence, and another meadow, skirting the edge of a cool little strip of woods which lured her with its green mysterious shadows, its whispering leaves, and twittering birds. One wistful [pg 10] glance she gave into the sweet silence, seeing a clump of maiden-hair ferns rippling their feathery locks in the breeze. Then resolutely turning away she sped on to the slope of Blackberry Hill.
It was not a long climb to where the blackberries grew, and she was soon at work, the great luscious berries dropping into her pail almost with a touch. But while she worked the vision of the hills, the sheep meadow below, the river winding between the neighboring farms, melted away, and she did not even see the ripe fruit before her, because she was planning the new frock she was to buy with these berries she had come to pick.
Pink and white it was to be; she had seen it in the store the last time she went for sugar and spice. There were dainty sprigs of pink over the white ground, and every berry that dropped into her bright pail was no longer a berry but a sprig of pink chintz. While she worked she went over her plans for the day.
There had been busy times at the old house during the past weeks. Kate, her elder sister, was to be married. It was only a few days now to the wedding.
There had been a whole year of preparation: spinning and weaving and fine sewing. The smooth white linen lay ready, packed between rose leaves and lavender. There had been yards and yards of tatting and embroidery made by the two girls for the trousseau, and the village dressmaker had spent days at the house, cutting, fitting, shirring, till now there was a goodly array of gorgeous apparel piled high upon bed, and chairs, and hanging in the closets of the great spare bedroom. The outfit was as fine as that made for Patience Hartrandt six months before, and Mr. Hartrandt had given his one daughter all she had asked for in the way of a “setting out[2].” Kate had seen to it that her things were as fine as Patience’s—but, they were all for Kate!
Of course, that was right! Kate was to be married, not [pg 11] Marcia, and everything must make way for that. Marcia was scarcely more than a child as yet, barely seventeen. No one thought of anything new for her just then, and she did not expect it. But into her heart there had stolen a longing for a new frock herself amid all this finery for Kate. She had her best one of course. That was good, and pretty, and quite nice enough to wear to the wedding, and her stepmother had taken much relief in the thought that Marcia would need nothing during the rush of getting Kate ready.
But there were people coming to the house every day, especially in the afternoons, friends of Kate, and of her stepmother, to be shown Kate’s wardrobe, and to talk things over curiously. Marcia could not wear her best dress all the time. And he was coming! That was the way Marcia always denominated the prospective bridegroom in her mind.
His name was David Spafford, and Kate often called him Dave, but Marcia, even to herself, could never bring herself to breathe the name so familiarly. She held him in great awe. He was so fine and strong and good, with a face like a young saint in some old picture, she thought. She often wondered how her wild, sparkling sister Kate dared to be so familiar with him. She had ventured the thought once when she watched Kate dressing to go out with some young people and preening herself like a bird of Paradise before the glass. It all came over her, the vanity and frivolousness of the life that Kate loved, and she spoke out with conviction:
“Kate, you’ll have to be very different when you’re married.” Kate had faced about amusedly and asked why.
“Because he is so good,” Marcia had replied, unable to explain further.
“Oh, is that all?” said the daring sister, wheeling back to the glass. “Don’t you worry; I’ll soon take that out of him.”
But Kate’s indifference had never lessened her young sister’s awe of her prospective brother-in-law. She had listened [pg 12] to his conversations with her father during the brief visits he had made, and she had watched his face at church while he and Kate sang together as the minister lined it out: “Rock of Ages cleft for me, Let me hide myself in Thee,” a new song which had just been written. And she had mused upon the charmed life Kate would lead. It was wonderful to be a woman and be loved as Kate was loved[1q], thought Marcia.
So in all the hurry no one seemed to think much about Marcia, and she was not satisfied with her brown delaine afternoon dress. Truth to tell, it needed letting down, and there was no more left to let down. It made her feel like last year to go about in it with her slender ankles so plainly revealed. So she set her heart upon the new chintz.
Now, with Marcia, to decide was to do. She did not speak to her stepmother about it, for she knew it would be useless; neither did she think it worth while to go to her father, for she knew that both his wife and Kate would find it out and charge her with useless expense just now when there were so many other uses for money, and they were anxious to have it all flow their way. She had an independent spirit, so she took the time that belonged to herself, and went to the blackberry patch which belonged to everybody.
Marcia’s fingers were nimble and accustomed, and the sun was not very high in the heavens when she had finished her task and turned happily toward the village. The pails would not hold another berry.
Her cheeks were glowing with the sun and exercise, and little wisps of wavy curls had escaped about her brow, damp with perspiration. Her eyes were shining with her purpose, half fulfilled, as she hastened down the hill.
Crossing a field she met Hanford Weston with a rake over his shoulder and a wide-brimmed straw hat like a small shed over him. He was on his way to the South meadow. He blushed and greeted her as she passed shyly by. When she [pg 13] had passed he paused and looked admiringly after her. They had been in the same classes at school all winter, the girl at the head, the boy at the foot. But Hanford Weston’s father owned the largest farm in all the country round about, and he felt that did not so much matter. He would rather see Marcia at the head anyway, though there never had been the slightest danger that he would take her place. He felt a sudden desire now to follow her. It would be a pleasure to carry those pails that she bore as if they were mere featherweights.
He watched her long, elastic step for a moment, considered the sun in the sky, and his father’s command about the South meadow, and then strode after her.
It did not take long to reach her side, swiftly as she had gone.
As well as he could, with the sudden hotness in his face and the tremor in his throat, he made out to ask if he might carry her burden for her. Marcia stopped annoyed. She had forgotten all about him, though he was an attractive fellow, sometimes called by the girls “handsome Hanford.”
She had been planning exactly how that pink sprigged chintz was to be made, and which parts she would cut first in order to save time and material. She did not wish to be interrupted. The importance of the matter was too great to be marred by the appearance of just a schoolmate whom she might meet every day, and whom she could so easily “spell down.” She summoned her thoughts from the details of mutton-leg sleeves[3] and looked the boy over, to his great confusion. She did not want him along, and she was considering how best to get rid of him.
“Weren’t you going somewhere else?” she asked sweetly. “Wasn’t there a rake over your shoulder? What have you done with it?”
The culprit blushed deeper.
“Where were you going?” she demanded.
[pg 14]“To the South meadow,” he stammered out.
“Oh, well, then you must go back. I shall do quite well, thank you. Your father will not be pleased to have you neglect your work for me, though I’m much obliged I’m sure.”
Was there some foreshadowing of her womanhood in the decided way she spoke, and the quaint, prim set of her head as she bowed him good morning and went on her way once more? The boy did not understand. He only felt abashed, and half angry that she had ordered him back to work; and, too, in a tone that forbade him to take her memory with him as he went. Nevertheless her image lingered by the way, and haunted the South meadow all day long as he worked.
Marcia, unconscious of the admiration she had stirred in the boyish heart, went her way on fleet feet, her spirit one with the sunny morning, her body light with anticipation, for a new frock of her own choice was yet an event in her life.
She had thought many times, as she spent long hours putting delicate stitches into her sister’s wedding garments, how it would seem if they were being made for her. She had whiled away many a dreary seam by thinking out, in a sort of dream-story, how she would put on this or that at will if it were her own, and go here or there, and have people love and admire her as they did Kate. It would never come true, of course. She never expected to be admired and loved like Kate. Kate was beautiful, bright and gay. Everybody loved her, no matter how she treated them. It was a matter of course for Kate to have everything she wanted. Marcia felt that she never could attain to such heights. In the first place she considered her own sweet serious face with its pure brown eyes as exceedingly plain. She could not catch the lights that played at hide and seek in her eyes when she talked with animation. Indeed few saw her at her best, because she seldom talked freely. It was only with certain people that she could forget herself.
[pg 15]She did not envy Kate. She was proud of her sister, and loved her, though there was an element of anxiety in the love. But she never thought of her many faults. She felt that they were excusable because Kate was Kate. It was as if you should find fault with a wild rose because it carried a thorn. Kate was set about with many a thorn, but amid them all she bloomed, her fragrant pink self, as apparently unconscious of the many pricks she gave, and as unconcerned, as the flower itself.
So Marcia never thought to be jealous that Kate had so many lovely things, and was going out into the world to do just as she pleased, and lead a charmed life with a man who was greater in the eyes of this girl than any prince that ever walked in fairy-tale. But she saw no harm in playing a delightful little dream-game of “pretend” now and then, and letting her imagination make herself the beautiful, admired, elder sister instead of the plain younger one.
But this morning on her way to the village store with her berries she thought no more of her sister’s things, for her mind was upon her own little frock which she would purchase with the price of the berries, and then go home and make.
A whole long day she had to herself, for Kate and her stepmother were gone up to the neighboring town on the packet to make a few last purchases.
She had told no one of her plans, and was awake betimes in the morning to see the travellers off, eager to have them gone that she might begin to carry out her plan.
Just at the edge of the village Marcia put down the pails of berries by a large flat stone and sat down for a moment to tidy herself. The lacing of one shoe had come untied, and her hair was rumpled by exercise. But she could not sit long to rest, and taking up her burdens was soon upon the way again.
Mary Ann Fothergill stepped from her own gate lingering [pg 16] till Marcia should come up, and the two girls walked along side by side. Mary Ann had stiff, straight, light hair, and high cheek bones. Her eyes were light and her eyelashes almost white. They did not show up well beneath her checked sunbonnet. Her complexion was dull and tanned. She was a contrast to Marcia with her clear red and white skin. She was tall and awkward and wore a linsey-woolsey frock as though it were a meal sack temporarily appropriated. She had the air of always trying to hide her feet and hands. Mary Ann had some fine qualities, but beauty was not one of them. Beside her Marcia’s delicate features showed clear-cut like a cameo, and her every movement spoke of patrician blood.
Mary Ann regarded Marcia’s smooth brown braids enviously. Her own sparse hair barely reached to her shoulders, and straggled about her neck helplessly and hopelessly, in spite of her constant efforts.
“It must be lots of fun at your house these days,” said Mary Ann wistfully. “Are you most ready for the wedding?”
Marcia nodded. Her eyes were bright. She could see the sign of the village store just ahead and knew the bolts of new chintz were displaying their charms in the window.
“My, but your cheeks do look pretty,” admired Mary Ann impulsively. “Say, how many of each has your sister got?”
“Two dozens,” said Marcia conscious of a little swelling of pride in her breast. It was not every girl that had such a setting out as her sister.
“My!” sighed Mary Ann. “And outside things, too. I ’spose she’s got one of every color. What are her frocks? Tell me about them. I’ve been up to Dutchess county and just got back last night, but Ma wrote Aunt Tilly that Mis’ Hotchkiss said her frocks was the prettiest Miss Hancock’s ever sewed on.”
“We think they are pretty,” admitted Marcia modestly. “There’s a sprigged chin—” here she caught herself, remembering, [pg 17] and laughed. “I mean muslin-de-laine, and a blue delaine, and a blue silk——”
“My! silk!” breathed Mary Ann in an ecstasy of wonder. “And what’s she going to be married in?”
“White,” answered Marcia, “white satin. And the veil was mother’s—our own mother’s, you know.”
Marcia spoke it reverently, her eyes shining with something far away that made Mary Ann think she looked like an angel.
“Oh, my! Don’t you just envy her?”
“No,” said Marcia slowly; “I think not. At least—I hope not. It wouldn’t be right, you know. And then she’s my sister and I love her dearly, and it’s nearly as nice to have one’s sister have nice things and a good time as to have them one’s self.”
“You’re good,” said Mary Ann decidedly as if that were a foregone conclusion. “But I should envy her, I just should. Mis’ Hotchkiss told Ma there wa’nt many lots in life so all honey-and-dew-prepared like your sister’s. All the money she wanted to spend on clo’es, and a nice set out, and a man as handsome as you’ll find anywhere, and he’s well off too, ain’t he? Ma said she heard he kept a horse and lived right in the village too, not as how he needed to keep one to get anywhere, either. That’s what I call luxury—a horse to ride around with. And then Mr. What’s-his-name? I can’t remember. Oh, yes, Spafford. He’s good, and everybody says he won’t make a bit of fuss if Kate does go around and have a good time. He’ll just let her do as she pleases. Only old Grandma Doolittle says she doesn’t believe it. She thinks every man, no matter how good he is, wants to manage his wife, just for the name of it. She says your sister’ll have to change her ways or else there’ll be trouble. But that’s Grandma! Everybody knows her. She croaks! Ma says Kate’s got her nest feathered well if ever a girl had. My! I only wish I had the same chance!”
[pg 18]Marcia held her head a trifle high when Mary Ann touched upon her sister’s personal character, but they were nearing the store, and everybody knew Mary Ann was blunt. Poor Mary Ann! She meant no harm. She was but repeating the village gossip. Besides, Marcia must give her mind to sprigged chintz. There was no time for discussions if she would accomplish her purpose before the folks came home that night.
“Mary Ann,” she said in her sweet, prim way that always made the other girl stand a little in awe of her, “you mustn’t listen to gossip. It isn’t worth while. I’m sure my sister Kate will be very happy. I’m going in the store now, are you?” And the conversation was suddenly concluded.
Mary Ann followed meekly watching with wonder and envy as Marcia made her bargain with the kindly merchant, and selected her chintz. What a delicious swish the scissors made as they went through the width of cloth, and how delightfully the paper crackled as the bundle was being wrapped! Mary Ann did not know whether Kate or Marcia was more to be envied.
“Did you say you were going to make it up yourself?” asked Mary Ann.
Marcia nodded.
“Oh, my! Ain’t you afraid? I would be. It’s the prettiest I ever saw. Don’t you go and cut both sleeves for one arm. That’s what I did the only time Ma ever let me try.” And Mary Ann touched the package under Marcia’s arm with wistful fingers.
They had reached the turn of the road and Mary Ann hoped that Marcia would ask her out to “help,” but Marcia had no such purpose.
“Well, good-bye! Will you wear it next Sunday?” she asked.
“Perhaps,” answered Marcia breathlessly, and sped on her homeward way, her cheeks bright with excitement.
In her own room she spread the chintz out upon the bed and with trembling fingers set about her task. The bright shears clipped the edge and tore off the lengths exultantly as if in league with the girl. The bees hummed outside in the clover, and now and again buzzed between the muslin curtains of the open window, looked in and grumbled out again. The birds sang across the meadows and the sun mounted to the zenith and began its downward march, but still the busy fingers worked on. Well for Marcia’s scheme that the fashion of the day was simple, wherein were few puckers and plaits and tucks, and little trimming required, else her task would have been impossible.
Her heart beat high as she tried it on at last, the new chintz that she had made. She went into the spare room and stood before the long mirror in its wide gilt frame that rested on two gilt knobs standing out from the wall like giant rosettes. She had dared to make the skirt a little longer than that of her best frock. It was almost as long as Kate’s, and for a moment she lingered, sweeping backward and forward before the glass and admiring herself in the long graceful folds. She caught up her braids in the fashion that Kate wore her hair and smiled at the reflection of herself in the mirror. How funny it seemed to think she would soon be a woman like Kate. When Kate was gone they would begin to call her “Miss” sometimes. Somehow she did not care to look ahead. The present seemed enough. She had so wrapped her thoughts in her sister’s new life that her own seemed flat and stale in comparison.
The sound of a distant hay wagon on the road reminded her that the sun was near to setting. The family carryall would soon be coming up the lane from the evening packet. She must hurry and take off her frock and be dressed before they arrived.
Marcia was so tired that night after supper that she was glad to slip away to bed, without waiting to hear Kate’s [pg 20] voluble account of her day in town, the beauties she had seen and the friends she had met.
She lay down and dreamed of the morrow, and of the next day, and the next. In strange bewilderment she awoke in the night and found the moonlight streaming full into her face. Then she laughed and rubbed her eyes and tried to go to sleep again; but she could not, for she had dreamed that she was the bride herself, and the words of Mary Ann kept going over and over in her mind. “Oh, don’t you envy her?”Did she envy her sister? But that was wicked. It troubled her to think of it, and she tried to banish the dream, but it would come again and again with a strange sweet pleasure.
She lay wondering if such a time of joy would ever come to her as had come to Kate, and whether the spare bed would ever be piled high with clothes and fittings for her new life. What a wonderful thing it was anyway to be a woman and be loved!
Then her dreams blended again with the soft perfume of the honeysuckle at the window, and the hooting of a young owl.
The moon dropped lower, the bright stars paled, dawn stole up through the edges of the woods far away and awakened a day that was to bring a strange transformation over Marcia’s life.
CHAPTER II
As a natural consequence of her hard work and her midnight awakening, Marcia overslept the next morning. Her stepmother called her sharply and she dressed in haste, not even taking time to glance toward the new folds of chintz that drew her thoughts closetward. She dared not say anything about it yet. There was much to be done, and not even Kate had time for an idle word with her. Marcia was called upon to run errands, to do odds and ends of things, to fill in vacant places, to sew on lost buttons, to do everything for which nobody else had time. The household had suddenly become aware that there was now but one more intervening day between them and the wedding.
It was not until late in the afternoon that Marcia ventured to put on her frock. Even then she felt shy about appearing in it.
Madam Schuyler was busy in the parlor with callers, and Kate was locked in her own room whither she had gone to rest. There was no one to notice if Marcia should “dress up,” and it was not unlikely that she might escape much notice even at the supper table, as everybody was so absorbed in other things.
She lingered before her own little glass looking wistfully at herself. She was pleased with the frock she had made and liked her appearance in it, but yet there was something disappointing about it. It had none of the style of her sister’s garments, newly come from the hand of the village mantua-maker. It was girlish, and showed her slip of a form prettily in the fashion of the day, but she felt too young. She wanted to look older. She searched her drawer and found a bit of black velvet which she pinned about her [pg 22] throat with a pin containing the miniature of her mother, then with a second thought she drew the long braids up in loops and fastened them about her head in older fashion. It suited her well, and the change it made astonished her. She decided to wear them so and see if others would notice. Surely, some day she would be a young woman, and perhaps then she would be allowed to have a will of her own occasionally.
She drew a quick breath as she descended the stairs and found her stepmother and the visitor just coming into the hall from the parlor.
They both involuntarily ceased their talk and looked at her in surprise. Over Madam Schuyler’s face there came a look as if she had received a revelation. Marcia was no longer a child, but had suddenly blossomed into young womanhood. It was not the time she would have chosen for such an event. There was enough going on, and Marcia was still in school. She had no desire to steer another young soul through the various dangers and follies that beset a pretty girl from the time she puts up her hair until she is safely married to the right man—or the wrong one. She had just begun to look forward with relief to having Kate well settled in life. Kate had been a hard one to manage. She had too much will of her own and a pretty way of always having it. She had no deep sense of reverence for old, staid manners and customs. Many a long lecture had Madam Schuyler delivered to Kate upon her unseemly ways. It did not please her to think of having to go through it all so soon again, therefore upon her usually complacent brow there came a look of dismay.
“Why!” exclaimed the visitor, “is this the bride? How tall she looks! No! Bless me! it isn’t, is it? Yes—Well! I’ll declare. It’s just Marsh! What have you got on, child? How old you look!”
Marcia flushed. It was not pleasant to have her young womanhood questioned, and in a tone so familiar and patronizing. [pg 23] She disliked the name of “Marsh” exceedingly, especially upon the lips of this woman, a sort of second cousin of her stepmother’s. She would rather have chosen the new frock to pass under inspection of her stepmother without witnesses, but it was too late to turn back now. She must face it.
Though Madam Schuyler’s equilibrium was a trifle disturbed, she was not one to show it before a visitor. Instantly she recovered her balance, and perhaps Marcia’s ordeal was less trying than if there had been no third person present.
“That looks very well, child!” she said critically with a shade of complacence in her voice. It is true that Marcia had gone beyond orders in purchasing and making garments unknown to her, yet the neatness and fit could but reflect well upon her training. It did no harm for cousin Maria to see what a child of her training could do. It was, on the whole, a very creditable piece of work, and Madam Schuyler grew more reconciled to it as Marcia came down toward them.
“Make it herself?” asked cousin Maria. “Why, Marsh, you did real well. My Matilda does all her own clothes now. It’s time you were learning. It’s a trifle longish to what you’ve been wearing them, isn’t it? But you’ll grow into it, I dare say. Got your hair a new way too. I thought you were Kate when you first started down stairs. You’ll make a good-looking young lady when you grow up; only don’t be in too much hurry. Take your girlhood while you’ve got it, is what I always tell Matilda.”
Matilda was well on to thirty and showed no signs of taking anything else.
Madam Schuyler smoothed an imaginary pucker across the shoulders and again pronounced the work good.
“I picked berries and got the cloth,” confessed Marcia.
Madam Schuyler smiled benevolently and patted Marcia’s cheek.
“You needn’t have done that, child. Why didn’t you come [pg 24] to me for money? You needed something new, and that is a very good purchase, a little light, perhaps, but very pretty. We’ve been so busy with Kate’s things you have been neglected.”
Marcia smiled with pleasure and passed into the dining room wondering what power the visitor had over her stepmother to make her pass over this digression from her rules so sweetly—nay, even with praise.
At supper they all rallied Marcia upon her changed appearance. Her father jokingly said that when the bridegroom arrived he would hardly know which sister to choose, and he looked from one comely daughter to the other with fatherly pride. He praised Marcia for doing the work so neatly, and inwardly admired the courage and independence that prompted her to get the money by her own unaided efforts rather than to ask for it, and later, as he passed through the room where she was helping to remove the dishes from the table, he paused and handed her a crisp five-dollar note. It had occurred to him that one daughter was getting all the good things and the other was having nothing. There was a pleasant tenderness in his eyes, a recognition of her rights as a young woman, that made Marcia’s heart exceedingly light. There was something strange about the influence this little new frock seemed to have upon people.
Even Kate had taken a new tone with her. Much of the time at supper she had sat staring at her sister. Marcia wondered about it as she walked down toward the gate after her work was done. Kate had never seemed so quiet. Was she just beginning to realize that she was leaving home forever, and was she thinking how the home would be after she had left it? How she, Marcia, would take the place of elder sister, with only little Harriet and the boys, their stepsister and brothers, left? Was Kate sad over the thought of going so far away from them, or was she feeling suddenly the responsibility of the new position she was to occupy and [pg 25] the duties that would be hers? No, that could not be it, for surely that would bring a softening of expression, a sweetness of anticipation, and Kate’s expression had been wondering, perplexed, almost troubled. If she had not been her own sister Marcia would have added, “hard,” but she stopped short at that.
It was a lovely evening. The twilight was not yet over as she stepped from the low piazza that ran the length of the house bearing another above it on great white pillars. A drapery of wistaria in full bloom festooned across one end and half over the front. Marcia stepped back across the stone flagging and driveway to look up the purple clusters of graceful fairy-like shape that embowered the house, and thought how beautiful it would look when the wedding guests should arrive the day after the morrow. Then she turned into the little gravel path, box-bordered, that led to the gate. Here and there on either side luxuriant blooms of dahlias, peonies and roses leaned over into the night and peered at her. The yard had never looked so pretty. The flowers truly had done their best for the occasion, and they seemed to be asking some word of commendation from her.
They nodded their dewy heads sleepily as she went on.
To-morrow the children would be coming back from Aunt Eliza’s, where they had been sent safely out of the way for a few days, and the last things would arrive—and he would come. Not later than three in the afternoon he ought to arrive, Kate had said, though there was a possibility that he might come in the morning, but Kate was not counting upon it. He was to drive from his home to Schenectady and, leaving his own horse there to rest, come on by coach. Then he and Kate would go back in fine style to Schenectady in a coach and pair, with a colored coachman, and at Schenectady take their own horse and drive on to their home, a long beautiful ride, so thought Marcia half enviously. How beautiful it would be! What endless delightful talks they might [pg 26] have about the trees and birds and things they saw in passing only Kate did not love to talk about such things. But then she would be with David, and he talked beautifully about nature or anything else. Kate would learn to love it if she loved him. Did Kate love David? Of course she must or why should she marry him? Marcia resented the thought that Kate might have other objects in view, such as Mary Ann Fothergill had suggested for instance. Of course Kate would never marry any man unless she loved him. That would be a dreadful thing to do. Love was the greatest thing in the world. Marcia looked up to the stars, her young soul thrilling with awe and reverence for the great mysteries of life. She wondered again if life would open sometime for her in some such great way, and if she would ever know better than now what it meant. Would some one come and love her? Some one whom she could love in return with all the fervor of her nature?
