Visits With a Victorian Lady Vintage Serilaized Story

Author: Mrs. Ann S. Stephens

Dated: 1881

Titled: "The American Countess"

From: Peterson's Magazine

In the Victorian era, women eagerly awaited the arrival of copies of Peterson's, Godey's, The Lady's Album, or any number of other women's magazines they subscribed to. Reading about the latest fashions, exploring other lands, discovering new recipes and advice, were only a part of the attraction. Stories, some short, others serialized from one issue to the next, lured the reader into other worlds and out of the routines of their own.

This month we pay tribute to these unique pages of the past by continuing our own vintage serialized story -- straight out of the pages of Peterson's Magazine, January 1881. . .

(In previous excerpts, Mrs. Hastings [wife of Rev. Hastings, a poor Methodist minister], who gave up her position as one of the last of the Wheeler family tree in the small community of "Wheeler's Hollow" to follow her heart, became fatally ill. This was due, in fact, to the community's ignorance of just how poor the minister and his family were.

On her deathbed, Mrs. Hastings extracted a promise from the formidable Mrs. Farnsworth [a distant relative, and the only one to whom she felt she could appeal] to take care of her daughter, Lucy -- treating her as she would have, in love -- and to also be kind to her husband. After Mrs. Hasting's death, most of Mrs. Farnsworth's "aid" to date has been merely to parade around in her finery and be an affront to the community at large, making Lucy and her father uncomfortable. Little did Mrs. Hastings know the true character of her distant relative, or she might never have approached her for help!

Then, dear Reverend Hastings became gravely ill and the church people of "Wheeler's Hollow,", finally realizing the error of their ways, determined to gather around the small family [to the frustration of Mrs. Farnsworth, who wanted to keep up the appearance of benefactress]. The church people became intent on preventing the Hastings from any further distress by Mrs. Farnsworth, whom they considered to be an interloper in their community. Meanwhile, Mrs. Farnsworth's daughter, Octavia, who had not heretofore taken any interest whatsoever in the Wheeler mansion, preferring to stay in the city and enjoy its social scene, discovered a certain English lord [Lord Oram] and a Russian count [Count Var] wanted to pay a visit to her mother's family estate! While touring through the countryside during their stay, the lord and count chanced to meet Lucy and are quite intrigued to know just who she is. The web becomes more tangled!

In a previous excerpt, Lord Oram and Count Var learned of a special event the church community is planning as a means to provide a benevolent shower of both goods and goodwill on the Reverend Hastings and Lucy. In their eagerness to discover more about the intriguing Lucy, they have pledged to attend, much to the chagrin of Mrs. Wheeler.

Reverend Hastings is finally feeling a bit better, and Nathan Drum -- Mrs. Farnsworth's servant -- has suggested taking him on a sleigh ride to raise his spirits. . .)

"The American Countess"
Chapter XVIlI

"Between twelve and one the next day, Nathan appeared in front of Mr. Hastings' dwelling in a brand new sleigh, red enough to set the snow on fire, drawn by a pair of stout farm horses that pranced clumsily, and shook themselves in harness like persons newly chained, frightened out of their natural heavy training by the bells strung around the great girth of their bodies, and hanging in rows down their ponderous chests.

Nathan, who was in full Sunday clothes, with a stiff, bell-crowned hat slanting backward from the crown of his head, brandished a long, new whip, with a cracker at the end of its lash, and held the team in with both hands, as if the old farm horses had become all at once rampant with spirits, and so skittish that it would become dangerous to slacken his hold for a moment. But that was quite unnecessary, for class-leader Doolittle came down in his sleigh, muffled in a double layer of buffalo robes, and insisted on wrapping the minister in his own Suncay overcoat, before he was permitted to enter the sleigh.

Mrs. Doolittle also had sent down a huge mink Victorine and muff, with her best imitation shawl, matted with gorgeous colors, which choice articles Lucy was enjoined to put on, and thus make a genteel appearance, while she saved herself all danger of taking cold.

Lucy put on the fur, drew a little quilted hood over the bright waves of her hair, and took her place among the buffalo robes, cheerful and almost smiling; for she was young, and with such, clouds melt imperceptibly into sunshine, and the very motion and dash of bells, kindled the blood in her veins with new life.

It seemed as if all Wheeler's Hollow had been on the watch for that wonderful equipage to drive away, for scarcely had it disappeared, when its track was dotted over with men, women and children, all diverging toward the minister's house. Among them came two ox-sleds, laden with barrels, baskets, heaps of yarn, and bags of grain. One of these loads was crowned with a small hen-coop, where very lovely and impatient chickens were thrusting their heads through the wooden slats, and on the other lay a newly-slaughtered shoat, with a wide cleft down his breast, and his feet in the air.

After these came a succession of one-horse sleighs and cutters, crowded like robins' nest with old folks and children, each bearing some present for the minister. One bright boy had a roll of muskrat skins under his arm, that he had been all the winter in trapping; and in the same sled sat a little girl holding a pet kitten to her bosom, which she had brought for the minister's hearth, because it was the dearest thing she had in all the world.

Thus for half-an-hour or more the worshipers at the red school-house came straggling down the highway, carrying baskets and bundles, till the old house was thronged with a cheerful, bustling crowd, intent on good works, and enjoying the whole affair, as if it had been the first great holiday of their lives. There was plenty of work for everyone, and on all sides willing hands to undertake it. The men swarmed like bees around the loaded sleds, carrying their contents away piece by piece, and storing them in the empty cellars and closets of the old house, while the women spread a new rag-carpet on the family room, and went upon their knees to nail it down, chatting merrily, and joking each other all the time.

Above these, mounted on chairs and tables, a bevy of young girls -- half of them on probation, I dare say -- were hanging great garlands of hemlock, white pine and pressed autumn leaves upon the dingy walls, harmonizing their time-mellowed gray with the rich colors, as few artists could have done, all laughing and chirping to each other like birds, among the foliage.

Other girls were hard at work digging the cores from red and golden winter apples, which they turned into candlesticks, and hung like great golden globes and carbuncles in the green branches, filling them with color and life.

By-and-by all this joyous confusion settled itself into picturesque order. The sleds had driven away. The loose branches were gathered up, and the new carpet swept. A great back log had been rolled into the fireplace, and bright tongues of flame were darting up through the dry hickory wood piled against it. Now Mrs. Doolittle and her followers took time to draw breath. They withdrew into another room, where an old looking-glass was hanging, took off their calico aprons, drew down their sleeves, and peeped over each others shoulders, as they smoothed the bands of hair securely back from their faces, after the primitive fashion of the sect.

When the elder sisters returned to the outer room, others, younger and brighter, came swarming in, each in eager haste to see her own fair, young face in the glass, and arrange the rebellious hair that would curl and crimp, in spite of discipline. Certainly, no very elaborate toilets were made before that dim, old looking-glass; but pretty faces came and went, demurely smiling at their own reflection, and you might have traveled many a mile from Wheeler's Hollow, and failed to meet a finer or happier set of maids and matrons, than those who gathered that night in the transformed sitting-room, where we first saw the minister in his great misery.

'It is time that the minister should be a-coming now,' said Mrs. Doolittle, placing herself at the window, just as the sun was going down behind the distant pine woods. 'I told Nathan Drum not to be long after the sun went down, and it's setting all the old pine trees a-fire this minute, and seems ter be a-turning the snow crust ter gold, all along the side hill. He'll be along right away now, gurls. Is the table all sot out, and is things all ready in 'tother room?'

'Oh, yes, yes!' answered half-a-dozen voices from the great, empty room beyond the one in which she was standing, 'everything be ready!'

The sunset gold had all died off from the side hill, and the pine woods were full of purple shadows, when Mrs. Doolittle turned from the window, and, lifting up one plump finger, exclaimed, with mysterious solemnity:

'I hear bells. Now all be still as mice!'

They were still. In all that crowd, there was scarcely a man or woman who breathed freely enough for speech.

Yes, the unequal sound of sleigh-bells came nearer and nearer, accompanied with the clumsy tramp of horses out of step, and the sharp crack of a whip that seemed like a signal.

'It's him,' repeated Mrs. Doolittle. 'Now stand ready, stiller en still, and when you hear our blessed minister's foot on the door-stun, remember orders.'

The silence that fell upon the crowd was so deep, that the click of a latch lifted at the gate sounded through it like the clash of a gunlock.

'He's at the gate!' whispered Mrs. Doolittle.

'He's coming up the walk!'

'He's on the door-stun!'

The woman planted one foot forward, and lifted her hand as if it contained a baton. She felt like some great general at the head of a division.

'Now, now!'

To be continued

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