Rose Sees the World

by Kate Douglas Wiggin

　　Was this the world, after all? Rose asked herself; and, if so,what was amiss with it, and where was the charm, thebewilderment, the intoxication, the glamour!

　　She had been glad to come to Boston, for the last two weeks inEdgewood had proved intolerable. She had always been a favoriteheretofore, from the days when the boys fought for the privilegeof dragging her sled up the hills, and filling her tiny mittenwith peppermints, down to the year when she came home from theWareham Female Seminary, an acknowledged belle and beauty.Suddenly she had felt her popularity dwindling. There was noreal change in the demeanor of her acquaintances, but there was acertain subtle difference of atmosphere. Everybody sympathizedtacitly with Stephen, and she did not wonder, for there weretimes when she secretly took his part against herself. Only afew candid friends had referred to the rupture openly inconversation, but these had been bluntin their disapproval.

　　It seemed part of her ill fortune that just at this time Rufusshould be threatened with partial blindness, and that Stephen'sheart, already sore, should be torn with new anxieties. Shecould hardly bear to see the doctor's carriage drive by day afterday, and hear night after night that Rufus was unresigned,melancholy, half mad; while Stephen, as the doctor said, wasbrother, mother, and father in one, as gentle as a woman, as firmas Gibraltar.

　　These foes to her peace of mind all came from within; but withoutwas the hourly reproach of her grandmother, whose scorchingtongue touched every sensitive spot in the girl's nature andburned it like fire.

　　Finally a way of escape opened. Mrs. Wealthy Brooks, who hadalways been rheumatic, grew suddenly worse. She had heard of a"magnetic" physician in Boston, also of one who used electricitywith wonderful effect, and she announced her intention of takingboth treatments impartially and alternately. The neighbors werequite willing that Wealthy Ann Brooks should spend the deceasedEzra's money in any way she pleased,--she had earned it,goodness knows, by living with him for twenty-five years,--butbefore the day for her departure arrived her right arm and kneebecame so much more painful that it was impossible for her totravel alone.

　　At this juncture Rose was called upon to act as nurse andcompanion in a friendly way. She seized the opportunity hungrilyas a way out of her present trouble; but, knowing what Mrs.Brooks's temper was in time of health, she could see clearly whatit was likely to prove when pain and anguish wrung the brow.

　　Rose had been in Boston now for some weeks, and she was sittingin the Joy Street boarding-house,--Joy Street, forsooth! Itwas nearly bedtime, and she was looking out upon a huddle ofroofs and back yards, upon a landscape filled with clothes-lines,ash-barrels, and ill-fed cats. There were no sleek countrytabbies, with the memory in their eyes of tasted cream, nothingbut city-born, city-bred, thin, despairing cats of the pavement,cats no more forlorn than Rose herself.

　　She had "seen Boston," for she had accompanied Mrs. Brooks in thehorse-cars daily to the two different temples of healing wherethat lady worshipped and offered sacrifices. She had also gonewith Maude Arthurlena to Claude Merrill's store to buy pair ofgloves, and had overheard Miss Dir (the fashionable"lady-assistant" before mentioned) say to Miss Brackett of theribbon department, that she thought Mr. Merrill must have wornhis blinders that time he stayed so long in Edgewood. This bitof polished irony was unintelligible to Rose at first, but shemastered it after an hour's reflection. She wasn't looking herbest that day, she knew; the cotton dresses that seemed so prettyat home were common and countrified here, and her best blackcashmere looked cheap and shapeless beside Miss Dir'sbrilliantine. Miss Dir's figure was her strong point, and herdressmaker was particularly skillful in the arts of suggestion,concealment, and revelation. Beauty has its chosen backgrounds.Rose in white dimity, standing knee deep in her blossoming brierbushes, the river running at her feet, dark pine trees behind hergraceful head, sounded depths and touched heights of harmonyforever beyond the reach of the modish Miss Dir, but she was outof her element and suffered accordingly.

　　Rose had gone to walk with Claude one evening when she firstarrived. He had shown her the State House and the Park StreetChurch, and sat with her on one of the benches in the Commonuntil nearly ten. She knew that Mrs. Brooks had told her nephewof the broken engagement, but he made no reference to the matter,save to congratulate her that she was rid of a man who was soclumsy, so dull and behind the times, as Stephen Waterman, sayingthat he had always marveled she could engage herself to anybodywho could insult her by offering her a turquoise ring.

　　Claude was very interesting that evening, Rose thought, butrather gloomy and unlike his former self. He referred to hisgrave responsibilities, to the frail health of Maude Arthurlena,and to the vicissitudes of business. He vaguely intimated thathis daily life in the store was not so pleasant as it had beenformerly; that there were "those" (he would speak no moreplainly) who embarrassed him with undesired attentions, "those"who, without the smallest shadow of right, vexed him with pettyjealousies.

　　Rose dared not ask questions on so delicate a topic, but sheremembered in a flash Miss Dir's heavy eyebrows, snapping eyes,and high color. Claude seemed very happy that Rose had come toBoston, though he was surprised, knowing what a trial his auntmust be, now that she was so helpless. It was unfortunate, also,that Rose could not go on excursions without leaving his auntalone, or he should have been glad to offer his escort. Hepressed her hand when he left her at her door, telling her shecould never realize what a comfort her friendship was to him;could never imagine how thankful he was that she had courageouslyfreed herself from ties that in time would have made herwretched. His heart was full, he said, of feelings he dared notutter; but in the near future, when certain clouds had rolled by,he would unlock its treasures, and then--but no more to-night:he could not trust himself.

　　Rose felt as if she were assuming one of the characters in amysterious romance, such as unfolded itself only in books or inBoston; but, thrilling as it was, it was nevertheless extremelyunsatisfactory.

　　Convinced that Claude Merrill was passionately in love with her,one of her reasons for coming to Boston had been to fall moredeeply in love with him, and thus heal some, at least, of thewounds she had inflicted. It may have been a foolish idea, butafter three weeks it seemed still worse,--a useless one; forafter several interviews she felt herself drifting farther andfarther from Claude; and if he felt any burning ambition to makeher his own, he certainly concealed it with admirable art. Givenup, with the most offensive magnanimity, by Stephen, and notgreatly desired by Claude,--that seemed the present status ofproud Rose Wiley of the Brier Neighborhood.

　　It was June, she remembered, as she leaned out of the openwindow; at least it was June in Edgewood, and she supposed forconvenience's sake they called it June in Boston. Not that itmattered much what the poor city prisoners called it. Howbeautiful the river would be at home, with the trees along thebanks in full leaf! How she hungered and thirsted for the river,--to see it sparkle in the sunlight; to watch the moongladestretching from one bank to the other; to hear the soft lap ofthe water on the shore, and the distant murmur of the falls atthe bridge! And the Brier Neighborhood would be at itsloveliest, for the wild roses were in blossom by now. And thelittle house! How sweet it must look under the shade of theelms, with the Saco rippling at the back! Was poor Rufus stilllying in a darkened room, and was Stephen nursing him,--disappointed Stephen,--dear, noble old Stephen?