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unconventional-hero · 5 years

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Chapter 19: The Epilogue

Written by “The Countess”

Originally titled “Chapter IX”

* * * * *

A weary, weary stretch of five years. Again we see the dusty lane leading up to the Tucker cottage in Bozeman. Again we see Mrs. Tucker, arrayed in the identical blue calico gown she wore when last we saw her. Again we hear the soft lowing of the cows, catch the faint fragrance of the roses over the door; again, -- but no! this is not the Betty we knew five years ago!

A pale, handsome woman of twenty-five, in a tea-gown, simply made and gay with rose-buds, a full-blown rose at the crossing of her kerchief over her breast-- a rose typical of her own full-blown beauty. No, it is not the same Betty. The years have brought many changes to her. Her very voice is different.

“Mother,” she says, coming to the door and slipping an arm around Mrs. Tucker’s ample waist, “you don’t see Jack coming, do you? I hate to have Algernon out so long. Oh, there the come! How Jack loves him.” She rushes down the road, regardless of the dust and throws her arms about her husband’s neck. Yes, it is the same Jack-- a trifle thinner and with a few gray hairs perhaps-- but who is the little prince who walks at his side, his golden curls floating about his head like a halo, his serious brown eyes suddenly lighted at sight of the pretty woman in the tea-gown? She stoops and kisses him, while Jack puts an arm about each. Mrs. Tucker, in the doorway, wipes the tears from her eyes at the charming tableau.

“Algernon Montmorenci Morningstar, you rogue, where have you been?” Betty asks, untying his hat.

“Oh, ‘way off, mamma. Papa took me to see the place where Black Bess threw little Clyde. Wisht Bess wuz a’livin’ now. I like wild horses. Ever’-thing wild. I tame ‘em!”

“Oh, Betty, he’s your own son. He’s afraid of nothing. And think how well the boy has held up for a three-year-old. He’s been walking around all afternoon.”

“Papa rested lots. I don’t like to rest,” asserts Algernon eagerly.

“Supper’s ready!” Mrs. Tucker calls and they find themselves in the kitchen, where, five years ago, Betty listened to Jack’s recital of his woes, and was even pleased at his avowal of his love for Clyde. Oh, the change that the years bring to us! Here she was, Jack’s wife, the mother of Jack’s child, home for the first time since she went to New York to defend him. She had married him the week after broken-hearted Clyde had left with her rascally husband for England. Jack had confessed that he was sorry he had been so morbidly romantic. He had said, “I might as well have loved a star as Clyde, but you, Betty, are tried and true, and will make me the dearest little wife in all the world-- if you’ll have me.” And Betty had promised to marry him the next day and she kept her word. That very night they had heard of Mr. McClure’s suicide. Desperate at last, unable to face the world after his failure, disgraced by his daughter’s secret marriage, irritated by his sister’s constant fault-finding, the poor man had ended it all by one shot through his broken heart.

Miss Dorothy had died in Betty’s arms a year ago-- a miserable, semi-idiotic invalid, who had never recovered from the shocks that had fallen upon her so heavily. She had been cut by all her former friends-- only Jack and Betty had remained true-- they had even given her a room in their handsome suite in a Fifth avenue tenement house, and she had been as grateful at the end as Dorothy Jennings could be. And in her occasional moments of rationality she had told Betty that she should not lose anything for all that care. So in a will Miss Dorothy had made one day with no legal help and with only Jack and Betty as witnesses, she had given all her personal property-- her elaborate costumes and what remained of her nice large fortune to Betty as a reward for “her faithful services.” The McClure and Jennings diamonds, which she held intact, she desired to go to Clyde, “if she ever reputed” and to Betty’s baby, if Clyde should die or never be heard of again. Her family pride never deserted her a moment.

Jack had been prosperous after all. Very little of his fortune had been really lost and by fortunate speculations he was soon classed among the wealthy men on Wall Street. His marriage and the birth of his son had restored all his old cheerfulness, and now, at thirty, he is sanguine and contented.

“It was all a waste of time to track Jim Paxton. No one will ever catch him but the devil, as I’ve often told Mis’ Barkalow,” says Mrs. Tucker, pouring a cup of rich cream for Algernon Montmorenci, who, by the way, bears the name of one of his mother’s favorite heroes. “And laud, how I’ve missed you two!”

“But you’ll go home with us in September, mother,” Betty cries gayly. “It is so pleasant in New York in the winter and you will meet new friends, the Reynolds, the Raymonds and the Duttons. I’m going out in society next winter, we’re getting quite popular, and I know I’ll enjoy it. Mrs. Landhurst is my best friend. You’ll like her so well, mamma dear. Last winter I couldn’t go any where on account of Miss Jennings and the winter before Algernon was sick so long but we’ve bought Mrs. Stewart’s house now and I’m going to be just as gay as you please.”

She laughs and is taking the rose from her breast to toss to Jack when a timid knock is heard at the door. Betty runs to open it. In the early twilight she does not at first recognize the beautiful face raised to hers. A black dress shows off the marble whiteness of the woman’s complexion to wonderful advantage. Two or three golden curls escape from the folds of her black bonnet. She extends an ungloved hand, and stares intently at Betty’s face.

“Come right in,” calls Mrs. Tucker from the table. “Supper’s just ready.”

“Is-- is this Mrs. Jack-Morningstar?” the woman on the doorstep asks, chokingly.

“Yes.-- Why, can it be possible? Jack, here is Clyde,-- I mean Lady Paxton!”

Jack rises hastily, almost overturning Algernon’s chair, and Mrs. Tucker, anxious to see the fair cause of all Jack’s trouble follows him to the door.

“Don’t be afraid,” Clyde says in a soft voice. “Jim is not here. I left him in Livingston. We are traveling with a theatrical party. I am leading lady and Jim is manager. I came-- because-- I thought I should like to see some one I used to know, even if my husband did wrong you both. We only stopped in New York one day. You know we have no pleasant recollections of it. So I only stayed long enough to visit poor papa’s grave and find where Aunt Dorothy is buried. You were very kind to her. I read all about it in the papers I got from New York and the European edition of the ‘Herald’. I want to tell you both that I will do any thing in my power for you. You are rich, they say, so you will not accept money but I mean to make it all right some time. Believe me, you have neither suffered as I have!”

Her voice sobbed into silence and Betty, her bright eyes filled with tears, caught her about the waist and drew her into the house.

Jack’s child crept up to her and laid a chubby hand on her arm as she sat near the table, having refused to partake of the meal.

Clyde lifted him up and kissed him.

“I had a child too-- but-- it-- died.” She sighed wearily and idly stroked Algernon’s curls.

Mrs. Tucker, who had been eagerly watching the visitor from behind the coffee urn, suddenly interposed, “That brute! I s’pose he’s broke your heart, too! Why don’t you leave him?”

Had lightning struck the place it could scarcely have been more startling in its effect on Clyde than these words.

She rose indignantly, stood a moment confronting them all and cried boldly, “He is my husband and come what may, I love him and shall adore him to the end!”

Turning abruptly, while the rest watched her in amazement, she was about to leave when Jack, speaking for the first time, exclaimed, “The diamonds, Betty! Tell her about them!”

Clyde’s eyes flashed with interest. “What diamonds?” She asked in a changed tone. So Betty told her of the bank in New York and of Miss Dorothy’s will.

“Keep them--” began Clyde with her old childishness-- “But no-- I will take them because-- he would wish me to!”

#period drama #romantic drama #victorian era #1800's #original fiction #An Unconventional Hero #the Countess #volume 3 #epilogue

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unconventional-hero · 5 years

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Editor’s Notes on the Epilogue

The final chapter of “An Unconventional Hero” was written in its own handmade booklet by “the Countess,” found tucked in the back cover of Volume 1. Although it was not originally titled as an epilogue, the chapter acts thematically as one, and given it’s distance from the body of the story (both chronologically and physically), I’ve decided to refer to it as “The Epilogue.”

There was initially some confusion about this chapter’s placement in the story. Due to the booklet being kept in Volume 1, along with the errant “Chapter 9″ numbering, I believed it was written after the end of one of the earlier volumes as a way to wrap up an incomplete story. However, the details mentioned in the Epilogue rely too heavily on the events of Volume 3. It’s more likely that the Epilogue was misnamed as “Chapter 9″ when it truly falls as “Chapter 19.″ (You can see the numerals were written in later with pencil, rather than with pen.)

The booklet itself is a single signature of four pages folded in half and bound together with a nail. The cover is 7″ by 4 1/2″, with the centerfold measuring roughly nine inches across. Its small size may have been the defining factor in how long the Epilogue was-- “the Countess” wrote up until the very last inch on the back page.

Narratively speaking, the Epilogue is a half-tied bow. Jack and Betty are seen living their happy lives with plenty of exposition on their exploits in New York. But the tale of Clyde’s fate is never quite finished. It is touched on, yes, but the timetable of page space leaves us hanging on a single line of dialogue just as it starts to get interesting.

#vintage #handmade book #antique #Victorian era #1800's #Editor's notes #An Unconventional Hero #volume 3 #Epilogue #photos

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unconventional-hero · 5 years

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The first page of “An Unconventional Hero,” Volume 3, featuring the handwriting of “the Countess,” along with a cut-and-pasted illustration.

#vintage #Victorian era #original story #antique #1800's #An Unconventional Hero #volume 3 #the Countess #photos

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unconventional-hero · 5 years

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The Churches of Boston

from the diary of Emily Cilley Poole, entry June 11th 1882.

* * * * *

Sunday June 11th it was raining when I awoke this morn. had a breakfast of trout and buttered toast, at the Parkes House, it cost [20? 40?] cents.

At ten the boys came to take us to church, went to the Congregationist [D?????] the pews were [??] cushioned but the darkly tinted windows gave a very “dim, religious light.” I could not see the hymns although they were very coarse print. Two psalms were read the minister reading one line and the congregation the next. The best was [long blank space] Colossians.

He preached heaven was not a material place, but eternity was now, and Heaven’s light was the glory of God and if we would begin our [word crossed out] heaven we must give as much to God as he gave to us-- our all, everything.

In the P. M. we went to Trinity church to hear Philip Brooks. This is a new church dedicated in 1877. It is Episcopalian and one of the finest churches in the city. The rector is a deep thinker and fine [??inker] and always draws a large congregation. However he has one fault, he talks so fast it is very difficult to follow him and then the acoustic properties of the building are not very good and this makes it worse.

Before the services he christened a baby its name was Anna, a gentleman and lady stood up with the lady holding the baby; the latter fretted some to get to its nurse who stood behind, she [stepped] out of its sight behind the altar, she was dressed in a thin white cap and a long white apron with embroidery on the bottom after the ceremony was over she took the baby and went away.

[blank page]

From our window we can see the old South Church, also a large building The Equitable Life Insurance Co. It is such a high house that the signal service uses the top of it to take observations of the weather, temper a time [??]. Can also see the New York Life Insurance building it has a tower with a clock and is a fine house.

Over the Parker House I can count forty-four (44) telegraph wires. I suppose some are telephone. [???] Chapel is also in sight. The sun rises early here I awoke a little after four and it was shining. I never am awake soon enough to see it rise. When I got here my watch was 45 minutes slow. On the Equitable building there is a ball which drops ever day at noon, to tell the sailors the time. I can see the bay.

#diary #travel journal #church #boston #American history #The Diary of Emily Cilley Poole #Emily Poole #sorry about the short entry #that's just how the chips fell this week

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unconventional-hero · 5 years

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On the inside back cover of An Unconventional Hero, volume 3, one of the authors pasted a picture taken from a magazine to illustrate their work. The illustration may have served a dual purpose-- both to spruce up the notebook and temporarily mend the well-loved cover.

#victorian era #1800's illustration #1800's #vintage #An Unconventional Hero #volume 3 #photos

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unconventional-hero · 5 years

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Chapter 18-- Miss Jennings’ Verdict

Written by “Slug 5″

(In which Clyde’s fate is decided.)

* * * * *

Events were once more beginning to assume a radiant hue for Jim Paxton. With Clyde as his champion it would be no hard matter to throw his net around McClure, and he immediately set to work. Things should yet go as he pleased. He proceeded cautiously, however, with the full assurance of one who had always reigned and would reign till the end.

Like a half-fledged bird he had been baffled for a time and to outward appearance wholly cast down and dishonored while in fact, he was only waiting for the full-fledged time of action, when he might use his wings safely and away.

Nor had his disappearance been spent in idleness. Each idea had been weighed and sifted and sifted and weighed to its fullest extent-- and every idea was brought to bear forcibly upon the desire uppermost in his heart-- the desire to rule in the McClure mansion. And now that the time had come for action he was ready. There was still one tower of strength to overcome. He knew that Miss Dorothy Jennings’ favor would not be easily won.

After many conferences behind closed doors Jim Paxton saw the power he was gaining-- slowly, surely, steadily.

“Humph!” exclaimed Miss Dorothy, after the first fury of her rage had passed, “Humph! He means to take Clyde to England does he? On our money does he? and leave us to shift for ourselves! Humph!” And then she subsided into deep thought from which no one was able to arouse her. Mr. McClure knew that when she again spoke it would be her final decision that she would announce, for “Humph!” with her meant, “We will see!”

“O! aunty you will not compel us to go? I shall just die away from Papa and you!” Clyde would exclaim passionately throwing her arms about Miss Dorothy’s neck but that lady would push her away haughtily saying, “Go away child-- go away, I must think!”

And then conflicting thoughts would chase one another hurriedly through her brain.

“Poor!” she would say, “‘Poor! in reduced circumstances!’ one and another of our society will say with a sneer when speaking of us!”

It was the one thing she dreaded most of all upon earth and her nature would resort to any means, foul or fair to prevent it. “After all,” she argued, “Jim may have taken the money only to prevent that Morningstar from ruining us. How easy it will be to smooth it all over. It must be done for Clyde’s sake and to save our name from disgrace. Jim Paxton is more endurable, at least, than that Western lout!” referring to Jack Morningstar whom she had never liked.

“And what, after all, if his father is a lord! Well, we’ll see! we’ll see!”

Three days had passed since the betrayal of Jim Paxton’s whereabouts and as yet McClure had taken no steps toward his prosecution. What steps could he take now that his daughter’s interest would be so deeply involved. The more he thought about it the more and more grew the bewilderment of his mind. He felt himself incapable for action. This latter blow seemed to have stunted his intellect. Involuntarily he would clutch the few stray locks just over his forehead, with such vengeance that one might have thought he blamed that unoffending member with all his troubles. At last he resolved to abide by Miss Dorothy’s decision. She, he felt sure, would set matters aright, and still maintain the dignity and honor of their old name.

On the fourth night after Mr. McClure had found Jim Paxton and his daughter together he set out, accompanied by Miss Dorothy and Clyde, from their poor tenement home at the foot of Grand street; now very poor indeed in contrast with their former home, for they had been able to save but a few pieces of furniture and their rooms now looked scanty and bare, and savored none of their former grandeur.

This was ten o’clock on Friday night as they took their way hurriedly up Grand street and turned into a busier part of town. Miss Dorothy kept some paces in front of the others, and held her course steadily onward, with haughty bearing and firm step, and a look of determination upon her face, which might possibly have suggested to an acute observer that some deed of desperation was about to be committed. Nor did she once look backward until they reached the Courtland street ferry. Then she turned abruptly and spoke to her companions.

“Are you composed, Clyde? Be careful how you conduct yourself before strangers. Show no emotion. The boat may be crowded.”

As she spoke, the loud, hoarse, evil-sounding gong of the ferry-boat rang out through the air and the heavy fog which was settling about them as by the hoarse ferry gongs which came ringing up incessantly from all parts of the river, Clyde strengthened her hold upon her father’s arm, followed Miss Dorothy through the long waiting room and entered the boat.

Even at this late hour almost every seat was taken, and Clyde noted it wearily as she sank down upon a seat in the farthest corner where she would be the least liable to observation. And she trusted to her good fortune that no one might notice her, for she was deeply agitated. Nor could she compress the working of her mind. She need have had no fear on this score, however, for the passengers were mostly tired work-men returning to their house in Jersey City after a day of hard labor in the metropolis, and were much too exhausted both in body and in mind to look futher than at those things which immediately concerned themselves. After a time which seemed to her hours, but which really was only a few moments, the boat struck heavily against some object, gave a lurch backward, as if recoiling from the shock, then drove slowly forward again and stopped at the Jersey shore.

Miss Dorothy rose, with the same determined look which had not once changed since leaving her home, and hurriedly, among the other passengers, left the boat, Clyde and Mr. McClure, with difficulty following and keeping her in view. Entering a street car, where they again with difficulty obtained a seat, the driver immediately put the whip to his horses’ flanks and they started out like a flash. Onward through the city they sped and by the time they began to ascend the steep grade leading up to “The Heights” the car was almost deserted. At Berger avenue the car again stopped and Miss Dorothy got out, followed by her two companions. Nor did she seem as all mystified as to where she was going, but kept straight up the avenue until four squares were passed. At Mondaville avenue they turned and crossed the street. On this corner where the two avenues intersect each other is an old stone building fast falling to decay.

It is claimed, by some of the oldest inhabitants of the hill to be the headquarters of General Washington during his campaign in that part of the country, and, partly in derision, partly in veneration for the old building a placard to that effect is nailed up on its side. An ancient negro woman, decrepit and poverty-stricken, had been its sole occupant for years. But just as the inhabitants in that vicinity were beginning to bewail her great age and condemn her as a nuisance, a change came. She suddenly disappeared and an Englishman, (as old almost in appearance as the negro woman, for his hair was white as the driven snow) took possession, bringing with him but one well-trained servant and housekeeper. He came and went regularly having little to do with the inhabitants and they paid less attention to him.

To this house Miss Dorothy marched and knocked loudly at the door. The negro servant admitted them.

He bowed politely and glanced at the visitors.

“Ah! I see, this way, master is a waitin’.” and after closing the door cautiously and locking & bolting it on the inside, he led the way through a dark hall way and opened a door at his right.

A ray of light burst from a low, narrow room, the walls of which were stained and marked with age. An old man sat at the only table in the room smoking, while his eyes glanced carelessly over the evening paper. As the party entered he started but did not rise.

“Ah! at last! I’ve been waiting for you and had about given you up. Pray be seated!” and he waved his hand to the direction of the few chairs about the room.

“Well, we might as well commence business at once! Your propositions have been considered by us,” said Miss Dorothy, speaking for her companions, “And we have concluded to accede to them!”

“And go to England for a year?”

“Yes.”

“The mansion, I see is still for sale?”

“Yes.”

“I have written to my father. He soon will enter into negotiations with the owners for its purchase. We can then take possession in one of any number of years.” The man spoke slowly, with a gleam of triumph in his eye which was not lost on Miss Dorothy.

“We’ll see-- we’ll see!” -- she spoke absently-- more to herself than to any of those around her.

“Have you made any arrangement as to the passage?”

“The ‘City of Richmond’ sails day after tomorrow. That is Wednesday. All arrangements can be made against then. Can you be ready?”

“O, yes, it makes no difference to me!”

“We will see you at the wharf, where we will meet as relatives.”

“Yes. McClure, have you nothing to say?” said the man abruptly, turning to Mr. McClure who had all this time remained perfectly silent as he sat dejectedly in an old arm chair.

“Nothing. If the arrangements are all completed we will go.” He spoke in the tone of one who had no power over himself and an air of complete vanqui[??] [??]ment* pervaded the whole man.

The Englishman turned with easy grace towards [his] visitors.

“I presume you would be delighted to see the perpetrator of all crimes before you go. There, is it the old friend of yore?”

Brushing his hand over his face and head the curling locks of white fell to the floor.

Although his visitors were aware of the deception they stood before him now in mute astonishment. His self-possession overwhelmed them.

“James! My husband!” Clyde shrieked falling into his arms.

“Yes. The joke is a good one, isn’t it, my sweet? Ha! ha!-- but there-- trot along with your Aunty my dear-- it’s growing late-- or early morning rather!” and he pushed her from him.

Miss Dorothy’s looks suggested vengeance. But out of the room she marched boldly almost dragging Clyde by the arm. They again passed through the dark hall and were again me and ushered from the house by the negro servant. Who might have known that this negro and Jim Paxton’s red-headed valet in the days of his brilliancy were one and the same?

* * * * *

*part of the original document was damaged, obscuring these words.

#period drama #tragedy #romantic drama #An Unconventional Hero #volume 3 #Slug 5

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unconventional-hero · 5 years

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Striving

a poem written by Ella Scott

A bright blue sky, where white clouds hover;

An open highway nearing the town;

A jolly brown robin-- the reckless rover!

Stealing the sunlight’s golden crown.

Sweetest perfume of red-lipped clover

Stretching beyond where the breakers play;

Tinkling brooklets, running close over

Their velvety borders’ verdant array.

A merry lassie with eyes of opal

Treading the dust beneath her feet.

Her steps and her glance pressed occidental

Where the swimming leaves of the forest meet.

Arm in arm with her school-girl lover

Brightest fancies are brought to bear--

When hist! with a whirr the startled plover

From the red-lipped clover seek the air.

#poetry #nature poetry #nature poem #Ella's poetry

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unconventional-hero · 5 years

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Hello all!

Due to some last-minute technical difficulties, tomorrow’s entry from the Diary of Emily Cilley Poole will be postponed until next Monday. In its place I’ll upload a short poem by Ella Scott.

The next chapter of An Unconventional Hero is still scheduled to go up on Friday at the usual time!

#editor's update #ironically this is not an April Fool's joke #things just happened to fall apart

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unconventional-hero · 5 years

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Halfway through Chapter 17, “The Countess” changes from writing in pen to pencil. It’s the first (and last) time this happens, as the rest of “The Countess’” chapters are penned in ink.

This photo is also a wonderful opportunity to see how Ella and “The Countess” utilized the space in their notebooks to the fullest. The text is written edge-to-edge, front and back, with the lines squeezed in as close to the binding as possible. (That last habit made transcribing a little difficult, as the pages are delicate and don’t like to bend too far!) Their methods, however, were extremely effective: the two authors managed to pack a total of 60 pages of typed text into three little notebooks!

#handwriting #cursive #An Unconventional Hero #The Countess #volume 3 #photos

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unconventional-hero · 5 years

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Chapter 17-- [Untitled]

Written by “The Countess”

(In which Mr. McClure confronts his daughter’s husband.)

[Editor’s note: the original chapter did not have a title.]

* * * * *

“Clyde! My darling! How came you here? I saw you enter, half an hour ago and thought you were ministering to some poor, wretched invalid. I came over to find you and have been stumbling through dingy halls and turning rusty knobs ever since, and here--”

For the first time Mr. McClure’s eyes fall on Jim Paxton. He starts forward, his eyes riveted on the dark, handsome face, his hands clinched.

“You here!”

“Yes, father!” The younger man turns with an easy nonchalance surprising under the circumstances. “I had an engagement with my wife--”

“Your wife! And what is my child doing here? Clyde, what does this mean?”

With an exclamation born of the most intense suffering Clyde throws herself at her father’s feet and implores his forgiveness.

My forgiveness?” Mr. McClure passes a hand over his forehead and looks at her, bewildered, half-conscious of approaching evil. “Explain yourself, girl! But leave this man first and come home with me!”

“That’s it! Oh, that’s it, papa! I can’t leave him! I can never-leave-him-again!” The words are the essence of despairing frenzy. “He is my husband!”

McClure started and would have fallen had it not been for Clyde’s arms now thrown around his neck. The golden head with its tiny bonnet slipping away from it, lay on his shoulder. She seemed years older than the girl he had treasured as his one idol for eighteen years.

He gasped. “Morningstar-- Paxton, you villain, is this true?”

“It is! She does not seem particularly happy, does she? But she’s a brick and I admire her spunk.”

“Insolence!”

The gold-glinted head is raised. Two eyes, like summer skies dripping with sunny showers, gaze into the ruined man’s face.

“Papa! I loved him! Don’t blame him alone!”

“When-- when were you married?”

“Over a year ago! It was a love match, I assure you!” and Paxton smiles grimly.

McClure pushes Clyde from him and confronts the man, his brain reeling, his strong frame trembling with passionate anger.

“You fiend! Not content with the bold-faced bank robbery-- not satisfied with dragging one of the pillars of Wall Street into the gutter of bankruptcy-- longing to break me down more than you have already-- you must needs marry my daughter! You must carry away my idol! My one sustaining prop! You have taught her to deceive me-- her father! Scoundrel! The rest counted as naught compared to this!

He raises his arm as though he would crush, with one blow, all life from the craftily smiling man before him.

A wild, despairing shriek from Clyde stops him.

Paxton turns to his beautiful victim. “Clyde, do you want me rearrested? Is this your wifely obedience and love?” he whispers imploringly, looking into her face with eyes as large with pleading and anger as those of a wild beast brought to bay. “Think of the notoriety-- the position you will place yourself in--”

“Clyde, come home immediately! Yes, you villain, that smile will soon be forever lost to view! You shall suffer as I alone can make you! Clyde, darling-- don’t look so wild! You have done wrong but I love you still! When he is justly punished, we may resume our old place in the world-- we--”

“You forget, sir,” begins Paxton, with blanched face and trembling lips-- all such men are cowards when tested-- “You forget that, as my wife, Clyde owes her first obedience to me. Aside from that, Mr. McClure, do you want to make her wretched-- do you want to bring her into unenviable notoriety-- do you--”

“Make her wretched, you devil? Who would more successfully accomplish that end than you? Clyde was married without my consent when she was under your influence-- she was a mere child--”

“She is of age now. Let us ask her to decide the case!”

“With all my heart!-- Clyde, my dear little daughter! I forgive you, knowing how plausible this villain may be-- how I was betrayed myself-- I blame not you alone, my darling, for this misalliance. I am to blame for guarding my jewel too well. But we will forget the past-- you and I-- you can obtain a divorce easily from this fellow, who could only make you unhappy-- I could prosecute him, regain my old position in the world, and then-- Clyde, answer me! I have idolized you from babyhood-- come to me!”

She ran toward him, her bright hair falling from its Psyche knot and rippling over her somber gown like cloth-of-gold.

“Papa!”

“You see what her choice is!”

“I have not made my plea, sir!” With haughty grace and the assurance born of a long and careful study of Clyde’s vulnerable points, Paxton advanced and, laying his hand on Clyde’s arm-- seeming not to notice her recoil, began:

“Clyde, is it over a year since you and I promised to love, cherish, and honor one another. You told me you loved me. I offered to give you up to any one your guardian might select for your husband but you would not hear of it. You promised to obey me and serve me and all the service I have required was for you to keep my whereabouts secret for the last seven weeks-- weeks of peril to me--”

“Peril richly deserved,” interrupted Clyde’s father hotly. “Clyde, you have looked to this thief’s safety when your father, to whom you owe all, was struggling to right himself in the eyes of his creditors! I see now why you were so anxious to get the position at the World office! It was to keep all news of this villain from my friends and the detectives. Speak, girl, is this true?”

“Papa! Papa!”

Paxton, with the theatrical instinct so natural to him, seeing a chance for an effective scene, rushed to his wife as her father thrust her from his arms.

“Clyde, my darling! My wife! You have had no opportunity to test my love for you yet, but I swear, by my father’s honored name, that if you come to me we shall be happy!”

“Your father’s name?” sneered McClure, totally beside himself with rage. “What is it, pray?”

“Berys, Lord Paxton, of Cuthbertshire, England.”

“Another lie!”

“I can prove it in any way you ask.”

“That’s neither here nor there! I shall inquire into the matter later, perhaps, to recover my stolen money, but now we must decide on my child’s future. My child! I believed you pure as an angel and you have deceived me as basely as this rascal! More basely, Clyde. I trusted you as I do my God. But, false or true, I owe you a father’s protection. Will you come to me?”

“A wife’s first allegiance is to her husband,” murmured Paxton, in rich, full tones, adding, with his earnest, handsome eyes looking straight into Clyde’s, “My darling!”

“Your fascination is that of a snake, you dog!” and McClure placed his hand over his daughter’s eyes as though he would shield her from the fixed stare of the magnificent eyes.

“Speak, my wife!”

He had nothing more to do with McClure. He was shrewd enough to know that if he gained Clyde, her father, no matter how angry he might be, would dismiss all idea of prosecution, for her sake, so Paxton addressed all his words-- all his fascinating looks-- to Clyde. It was remarkable-- the influence this hawk had for the poor little dove. Even now, when sheltered in her father’s arms, knowing how that father had been betrayed, how she herself had been victimized-- even now, I say, she felt the wild, passionate, romantic love of last year come back to her in all its intensity.

“Speak, Clyde!”

“Papa,” she cried, casting aside his hand and looking shyly into Paxton’s eyes. “Papa, I love you! I’m sorry if I was false to you. I--”

“You will come back to me?”

“No. I will go with my husband!”

Paxton stretches out his arms and she falls, fainting, into them.

There is a sharp, quick oath, a moan, and poor broken-hearted McClure has left them alone together.

#period drama #romantic drama #Victorian era #1800s #1880's #An Unconventional Hero #The Countess #volume 3

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unconventional-hero · 5 years

Text

The Sentinels

a poem by Ella Scott

(editor’s note: the original poem comes with a watercolor painting of tall cacti, titled “the Sentinels”)

Over the sands of the desert

The sun had held sway all the day--

Overbearing, relentless, a tyrant,

Nothing could stand in his way.

No life was left in his pathway;

Nothing could live in his wake;

Relentless, he bore down upon them,

Exulting in the toil he would take.

Nothing stirred on the desert

But the quivering heat that arose

From the surrounding vast desolation,

Seeming to stretch from coast to coast--

But nearing the end of his conquest,

Spent with destruction he’d wrought,

Relenting, he filled the heavens with glory,

As peaceful slumber he sought.

And now, on the wonderous desert,

The lone sentinels stand at arms

Guarding the entransing region,

Shielding it all from harm.

#poetry #desert poetry #deserts #Ella's poetry

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unconventional-hero · 5 years

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A Trip to the Museum

from the diary of Emily Cilley Poole, entry June 10th, 1882

* * * * *

Our first excursion every morn is out to Mrs. [Harrington’s] for breakfast. The next was to the University to see the boy’s room. (1) The house is an old brick, once used as a dwelling house. We went up three flights of narrow dirty steps and knocked at no. 9 on no. 10 door was the legend in big letters “IF YOU LOVE ME KEEP OUT,” of course we did not dare enter that room. We thought their rooms very comfortable, a sleeping room & sitting with two closets, two rows of shelves for books, a centre table with a red [cover] on it, one lone picture on the wall too.

The State house was one neat object of interest. (2) This is on Beacon st. on very high ground. The battle flags of all the Regiments that left Boston are draped around, some are very badly torn, and remind me of scarred veterans. From the top of this building there is a fine view of Boston, but we did not feel equal to the exertion of going up. The dome is covered with copper and can be seen all over the city. Leaving this we entered the Command on our way to the Public garden. (3) There was many new trees and plants, the red beech which has dark red leaves, the red house chestnut, which looks like a tree full of pink bouquets, a small tree with pink flowers which looked like tiny roses.

The ribbon beds were curious, the pansy beds were beautiful beyond description. There was all color, black, white, purple, of different shades, red & [etc?]. The heliotrope, verbena, and geranium beds had not reached their beauty. Around next the fence were all the old fashioned flowers and shrubs, peonies, hollyhocks, snowbells, & lilacs in profusion. We walked on Beacon st. and Common Wealth Avenue to see some handsome residences. The streets down there near the bay are wide and straight it is “made ground,” the water once came there.

Saw the Vendome, the most aristocratic hotel in Boston. (4) It is built of white marble, saw also a new club house, Phillip Brooks parsonage, & church and many other elegant buildings, one residence of which the building and furnishing was said to have cost $1,000,000. Most of the private houses seemed to be shut up as the occupants had gone abroad for the summer, in their dooryards the grass was going to seed and the dandelions and buttercups were peeping out.

The old South Church is not used as a church but a curiosity room. They have many relics of revolutionary days. A pair of black slippers worn by Mrs. Washinton, old silver tankards, [p????] & etc.

Rusty guns, a French officer’s saddle, flags, quaint old furniture, portraits of New England fathers & etc. The present building was first used the 26th of April 1730, the one torn down was erected in 1669 it stood for sixty years.

The church was often used before and during the Revolution for political meetings. Here was held the meetings that ended in destroying the hated tea. In 1775 the British soldiers used this house as a riding school of course it was greatly damaged. It was repaired in 1782. In 1876 the Old South society sold the church to be torn down and replaced by business buildings. But the people bought the old building and the land on which it stood for $430,000.

At the Natural History Building we saw stuffed animals and birds of every description, birds’ nests with the eggs in them, animals & snakes and sea animals in alcohol, skeletons of men & all kinds of animals, the largest being a whale. The monkey & the man to not look as much alike as some try to make out. The shells were interesting, some were large enough to hold five quarts of water. A stuffed moose, [seal], and sea cow attracted attention. The building seemed very nicely arranged for the purpose for which it is used.

At the foot of the stairs the newel posts were two immense bears, sitting down, the rail resting on their head. They were carved of wood.

The Public Library is another ornament to the city & there is over 200,000 books here. It has branch houses in other parts of the city. I saw here facsimiles of the writing of Rufus Choate (5), Ben Franklin, Queen Elizabeth, Shakespeare, and others.

At the Museum we first visited the [Thay] collection of Egyptian antiquities. (6) There was a fine exhibit of mummies showing the sarcophagi and the manner in which the bodies were wrapped in cloth, and also some mummy heads and hands. Also a great number of small images representing the dead, a cast of the famous Rosetta Stone, a royal robe with fringe 3 or 4,000 years old, and casts representing old Egyptian kings one of them in bas-relief involving an attack on Jerusalem.

The Greek rooms were filled with casts of the most famous fragments of Greek sculpture; among these were Venus of Milo, [Shiobe] and one of her children, the [Diocus ?????], and fragments from the [temple] of Jupiter.

Some of the paintings of special interest were those of Martha & George Washington by Gilbert Stewart, also a full length of Washinton by the same painter and one by Turnbull; a vase of flowers by Van Huysum (7) on which a few drops of water sparkled like reality; a group of cattle by Copley, & a few others by Rembrandt, Cuyh, and Reynolds.

In another room were some large pieces of tapestry of the 16 century worked by hand, representing the Harvesting of Grapes, a sacrifice, and a Winter scene. In the same room were some seats and other Italian furniture of the 15th & 16th century besides some embroidered robes of silk & satin made [by] Chinese, those were beautifully made in some gold and silver thread were used.

Another room contained armor and weapons of the 15th century used in England and France these looked as heavy and cumbersome as if they alone would tire the soldiers out, several figures in full armor were represented. A cross bow with the arrow was also seen which was strung by means of a crank and cogs.

There were many specimens of Chinese patience & ingenuity such as 5 or 6 balls of ivory delicately carved within another; also some glass balls about 5 inches in diameter worth $1500 & $2500, besides a great amount of vases and various other articles of ornament carved from malachite, [porphyry] and other beautiful stones.

In going from one place to another we ride in the street cars if the distance is long. They drive very fast and follow close behind each other, the open ones are the most pleasant on a warm day. They are well patronized. A walk and rest in the [bonmen?] eluded our sight-seeing for June 10th.

* * * * *

Notes:

(1) Emily is referring to Allyn and Charley, her son and his friend who attended college in Boston.

(2) The Massachusetts State House was built in 1798. The dome is indeed covered in copper (thanks to Paul Revere’s Copper Company), but it was gilded in gold leaf in 1874, eight years before Emily’s visit.

(3) The Public Garden, founded in 1837, was America’s first botanical garden open to the public. Just as Emily mentions “made ground” later in the passage, the Garden was built on land that was previously mudflats. It would later gain electric lights as a deterrent to flower theft.

(4) Hotel Vendome, a luxury hotel built in 1871, had just finished renovations in 1882 when Emily saw it. It is most well-known in modern history as the site of Boston’s worst firefighting tragedy after 9 firefighters died during a collapse in 1972.

(5) Rufus Choate was an American lawyer and congressman with several published works. He was the first lawyer in the US to successfully use “sleepwalking” as a defense for murder.

(6) The Boston Museum of Fine Arts still possesses a collection of Egyptian artifacts, likely the same ones Emily saw back in 1882.

(7) Jan Van Huysum (1682-1749) was a Dutch painter who made a series of paintings depicting flowers in vases.

#diary #travel journal #American history #US history #Boston #1800's #1882 #The Diary of Emily Cilley Poole #Emily Poole

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unconventional-hero · 5 years

Text

Chapter 16-- My Lady Paxton.

Written by “The Countess” and “Slug 5″

(In which Clyde reflects on her marriage.)

[Editor’s Note: the first few paragraphs are written by “The Countess,” after which the handwriting changes to “Slug 5,″ who finishes the chapter.]

* * * * *

“I tell you it must be done, Clyde! Your usefulness at the World office is over. Seven weeks have elapsed since my escape and you have kept details of my whereabouts carefully out of the paper with the largest circulation until now there is no need of your staying there any longer. We must go at once. This very night, if possible!”

“But, James darling, Mr. Cockerill must have some notice. He has been so kind to me--!”

“Kind! Well, my lady, just think what a kindness you will be doing that sensational paper by allowing them to write up the most mysterious disappearance of the year!”

“But papa?” The large eyes fill with tears, and the pretty hands flutter nervously about them.

“Papa! See here, Clyde, you are my wife. I demand from you the implicit obedience you promised me at the altar. If you deny me that and stay with your father while I am in peril, you sin before heaven.”

“And you, James-- you-- you sinned in taking papa’s money!”

[Here the author changes from “The Countess” to “Slug 5″]

“That is passed. And have I not atoned for the sin? What are seven weeks’ banishment from society to him who once was lion there! Have I not suffered! have I not lived in mortal terror day after day of being discovered? Have I not been deprived of friends, of consolation-- of advice! And now you-- you-- O, Clyde, my wife don’t leave me, it would kill me!” Jim Paxton rose, paced the floor once or twice, then sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands.

“You do not think of others, James. Have we not all suffered. Look at papa and see the result of your sin! Do you not believe, too, that Mr. Morningstar has suffered?”

“Morningstar! blast him! had it not been for him this would never have happened! I did it for your sake and now you desert me!”

The pinched, wan face and furrowed brow told of the deep agony Clyde had endured but while others were in peril she was too noble to think for a moment of herself.

In the tall, lithe form and thoughtful brow one would scarcely have recognized the merry child-like girl of a year ago.

She found herself no longer hovering on the brink of Womanhood. With a dip of the oar and a ripple of the brooklet the roseate hues of Youth sank below the horizon, and, scarcely time had she for contemplation, ere a firmer light broke from the other shore.

How often in the long, dreary hours, since the villainy of her husband had been revealed to her, had she held communion with her own heart. How bitterly did she regret her childish folly.

She dreamed in her girlhood that she loved this man; searching the innermost recesses of her heart, now, she could find no trace of womanly affection for him. “Till death do us part!” how the words haunted her. And her womanly honor felt it a sin to live with a man she did not love. A great gulf seemed before her; a gulf in which Misery, Sorrow, and high-born Agony went hand in hand down the long vista of future years; and, seeking to penetrate the darkness which hovered around, she could find not one ray of light.

She would be true to her honor. A vow once taken could never be broken by her-- although that vow was taken in childish thoughtlessness. Her love once given could never be recalled. She might have many suitors, but woe to him who would give his love uncalled-- she might break many hearts if need be, for her love could only be taken by the ideal of her womanly aspirations. And blessed be the man whom her love shines upon. It will gladden his days. It will give to him a purer, stronger power, both in this world and that to come.

No, she could not-- no living mortal could break the bonds between herself and this man at her side.

“James?” she looked up at him after this last bitter outburst of his, and her face was ashy pale, her beautiful mobile lips firmer set. “James, I will do any thing for you within the bounds of duty. I will not break the vow for which you took the advantage of my youthfulness to win.” A nobler bearing of the beautifully rounded form was all that told of her bitter hatred for the man at her side.

“Then you will go with me tonight. Clyde, you see the necessity for haste-- do not keep me waiting.”

“I can not go without a word to papa or it will kill him!”

“I tell you, you must not. It will ruin every thing-- You shall not.”

“O, James, James, do not be so hard with me. I never have done you wrong!” and Clyde sank into her chair utterly exhausted with her grief.

“But you will if you persist in this obstinacy-- You shall obey me.” In his anger Jim Paxton spoke louder than he thought and strode again hastily up and down the room.

There was a slight creak of the folding doors. Jim started uneasily-- then he looked before him in terror for in the shadow of the door way stood Clyde’s father.

“All is lost,” he cried, turning his face heavily to the wall as if to shut out the blackness of his soul.

#romance #romantic drama #period drama #Victorian era #1800's #late 1800's #An Unconventional Hero #the Countess #Slug 5 #volume 3 #abuse #abuse tw #more specifically: Jim Paxton is manipulative and verbally harsh with his wife

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unconventional-hero · 5 years

Photo

Chapter 16 is unlike any other in “An Unconventional Hero”-- it’s shorter than the rest by far, it’s interrupted halfway through by the misplaced end of Chapter 15-- but the most remarkable facet is the sudden change between authors.

Pictured above is the point where “The Countess” abandoned their chapter and “Slug 5″ finished it. It’s an excellent opportunity to compare the two authors’ styles side-by-side. “The Countess” (top) writes with sharp, bold, narrowed letters. “Slug 5,” on the other hand, (bottom) has much softer, rounded handwriting. Notice how the two authors vary with letters like “A” (And), “h” (heaven/have), and even “p” (peril/passed).

You can check out an earlier handwriting comparison here: link

#handwriting #history #family history #An Unconventional Hero #Slug 5 #the Countess #volume 3 #photos

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unconventional-hero · 5 years

Text

Sightseeing in Boston

from the diary of Emily Cilley Poole, entries June 7-9, 1882

* * * * *

In the afternoon of June 7 we went to Music Hall for the Commencement of the Boston University, the hall was festooned with green, with baskets of flowers hanging around and a [few?] of pot plants on the edge of the stage. 3,000 persons can be seated and it was full man standing. Charley was first on the Programme, Subject Energy-- he spoke very well his voice filled the hall so all could hear distinctly. As the names were in Latin I will not take the trouble to copy them. Over 100 [read] diplomas.

June 8th we took an open street car (which are splendid in warm weather, and hold over 40 persons) and went to Bunker Hill, we climbed the tower which is 291 feet high from the top we have a fine view of Boston & vicinity. This spot averages 25,000 visitors yearly.

From here we went to the United States Navy Yard. Saw the dry-dock which is a substantial work or granite masonry 341 ft long 80 ft wide & 30 deep which cost $675,000.

Also the rope walk is a granite structure a quarter of a mile in length where the ropes used in the Navy are made.

We saw some old hulks and a new one which was began during the war but will never be finished. The museum at the yard had some attractive articles. We went on board a man of war the “Wabash” it was a model of neatness and order, it had 24 cannons and a gatling gun, this could be loaded as fast and shoot as accurately as a pistol.

As we were on shore near the edge of the wharf a sudden breeze took Allyn’s hat sailing over the stone wall into the bay. A sailor nearby told him where he could get a boat hook, as as the tide was coming in it slowly drifted towards the shore, the man took the hook, which had a handle [blank] ft long and reached down the wall to the water a distance of [blank] ft and lifted it up.

In the afternoon (after a dinner of clam chowder) we went to Mt. Auburn, in going we passed Longfellow’s house and Harvard College. At the Cemetery we saw his lot, it is surrounded my granite about six in high, his is buried there. There is no name or date, some faded flowers were lying over him which were placed there decoration day. We also saw the grave of Augustus Charles, also of Benjamin Waterhouse M.D. He was the Dr. who introduced vaccination into the United States. He used it first on his own children.

We wandered over the beautiful grounds until five o’clock, then took the street cars back to Boston a distance of five miles.

June 9th 1882

This morning we looked in King Chapel, one of the oldest churches in Boston. (1)

The preacher has to go up a flight of stairs to reach his pulpit, above it hangs a sounding board. The pews have a high board fence around each one so when I was seated only my head was visible from any other pew. Around the side were inscriptions on tombstones the tombs being under the church.

After we left the church we bought crackers, dried beef, oranges & bananas. In the grocery I saw the largest pineapple I ever saw before, the price was $1.75. Their oranges came from Sicily. We took our lunch and went to Rowe’s wharf and took a steamer to Nantasket Beach, the sail down the bay was splendid.

The fresh sea breeze, of which we got the full benefit on the upper deck, the beautiful green of the water, and the white sailed vessels around made a pleasant picture.

From the landing we took a vehicle something like an omnibus only the steps were higher, I guess it was like a nickle wagon only it had newer paint and had only one curtain in each side, one of these we had to put down when it began to sprinkle.

The name of this vehicle was the “Fairy Queen” (all omnibuses & street cars have names) it took us on the Jerusalem road to Black Rocks, those are immense rocks of all shapes, reaching from the road to the edge of the sea. We sat on these and looked at the sea in all its changing colors, watched the ships through the eyeglass, and speculated on what a man was doing we saw in a boat who dipped a long handled scoop down and seemed to dip up something very tiny. By enquiring we found out he was getting sea moss. It sells for $4.00 a pound it is the [Irish moss?] we buy. About three o’clock we rode back to Nantasket Beach here there was no rocks and we could see the tide come in and break on the sand in a long white line (1/2 mile). There is something very captivating about it I thought I should never tire of watching it.

We walked on the sand and picked up shells and sea moss and ran back when the tide came too near our feet.

Then we sat on a long porch and watched the distant ships the contrast of their white sails and the blue sky and greenish-blue water was very beautiful. At six o’clock the steamer was ready to start after this we saw many ships of all sizes. Three large three-mast ships were being towed in by little tugboats.

* * * * *

Notes:

(1) King’s Chapel was founded in 1603 and is Boston’s oldest burying place. It still operates as an independent Unitarian church.

#diary #travel journal #American history #US history #historical nonfiction #The Diary of Emily Cilley Poole #Emily Poole

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