Cora and The Doctor: or, Revelations of A Physician's Wife
TextI was curious and inquisitive; but she would only tell me a word, and that with a great deal of blushing. It seems that yesterday Mr. Benson called when mother was here; and after sitting a few moments perfectly quiet, while she was engaged with her sewing, he took a seat by her side, and taking a note from his pocket-book, which she perceived at a glance was the one she had written him before he went abroad, he said, "Miss Emily, (it was always Miss Lenox before) will you tell me with your usual frankness, if you have ever regretted more than the manner of your decision on a former occasion?"
With the thought of all the suffering caused by her want of frankness, she replied nobly, though with downcast eyes, "I have always regretted the decision, as well as the manner of it." She says, she was really frightened at the effect her words had upon him. For one instant he pressed her hand convulsively, and then walked back and forth through the room. She thought, she had been too free and hasty in answering; and a hundred other conjectures came to her mind; but she will not tell how they were solved. She says, if I am so curious, I must apply to head quarters. But this she will say, that she is satisfied, and very happy.
"Well then," I said, "will you please to give me the extract about Mr. Benson, which you cut out of aunt Morgan's paper? I suppose you have done with it."
Emily looked very rosy. "You deserve to be whipped, Cora," she said, laughing to hide her vexation at my discovery. "You must look out how you behave now, for I have a champion as well as you."
CHAPTER XXVIII
"What is there in the vale of life
Half so delightful as a wife;
When friendship, love and peace combine
To stamp the marriage bond divine?" Cowper.
Wednesday, November 4th.
Emily was married this morning, and has gone to Waverley. The cottage is closed, and mother will spend the winter with us. Emily and I have had our first quarrel, on the question who shall have mother. I think, however, though she will make visits to Emily, that she will live here, because this has for so long a time been her home.
Tuesday, November 10th.
Mrs. Benson and her husband have changed characters since I first introduced them to you. Emily is very frank and free with her husband; and does not hesitate to show him that she loves him, while he is quite reserved, though exceedingly tender in his attachment to her. She is perfectly satisfied that he has given her his whole heart, and a very warm one.
Cæsar drove mother, Pauline, Nelly and myself over to the parsonage this afternoon. I could hardly realize that we were not at the cottage, everything looked so natural. Perhaps I did not tell you that the furniture was removed from that place to their new home; and sister has been very anxious to make it look as much like the old one as possible.
Waverley people have very generously presented their pastor with a handsome buggy, (he already owned a horse,) that he might have no excuse for not bringing his wife when he comes to see them.
There are nearly two acres of land belonging to the parsonage; and Mr. Benson has promised sister a fine flower-garden next summer.
I must not forget to tell you the appropriate gifts they have received from Mr. Karswell's family. Enclosed in a kind, fatherly note from Mr. Karswell, Sen., was a bank-bill of one hundred dollars to replenish Mr. Benson's library, with an addition of fifty from the son for book-cases, pleasantly remarking, that he had noticed there were none in the study. A large box accompanied the note, with a handsome service of plate for the young housekeeper. The latter was from the Misses Karswell.
CHAPTER XXIX
"Domestic happiness, thou only bliss
Of paradise, that hast survived the fall!" Cowper.
Friday, August 9th, 1844.
Since the receipt of your last letter, I have had serious thoughts of taking a trip to England. From what you say of father's health, I fear he is failing fast, and my heart yearns to see him once more. My dear husband sympathizes fully with me in this desire, and were my own health confirmed, he would urge me to go; but since the birth of my little Frank, my health has been very delicate, and he fears the voyage with the children would be too much for me. He did once suggest my leaving Pauline and Nelly, and taking only the baby with Ann. But I was decided in refusing to leave them. Franky is now six months old, and appears to be a very healthy child. I think, he will resemble his father more than even our dear little Walter did. Mother Lenox has now five grand-children, three of mine and two little ones at the parsonage. The Doctor brought the news of the arrival of the little stranger only two days ago. I sent Emily word this morning, that the baby must be named for me. The eldest is Susy, or Susan, for mother. Mr. Benson is very proud of his babies, and thoroughly appreciates the noble qualities of his wife. He was quite pleased this morning with the name, I had proposed for the little one, but said, he always accorded to Emily the privilege of naming her babies.
Mother has been with sister since June, and will probably remain until cold weather. Frank is not willing to have her away in winter, as she has of late years been subject to a cough. I wish sister Nelly could now see Pauline. The dear child is within an inch or two of my own height, and was eleven years of age last June. Never was a mother blessed with a more dutiful daughter. She has a most delightful influence over her sister, and indeed in her quiet way over the whole household. Phebe, (who has become very "weighty," as she expresses it,) often quotes Miss Pauline's remarks as testimony which no one would dare to question. A few days since she went to the village on an errand in company with Nelly, and on her return I saw her leading a poor, ragged, dirty child, while the woman whom I supposed to be the mother followed a few steps behind.
Leaving her little charge at the kitchen door, she flew up to her room, and then into the nursery; "mamma," said she in an animated tone, "are you willing I should give my birth-day money to a poor little girl who was crying in the street. She has no clothes, and she is very poor. May I, mamma?"
I arose and went below to ascertain the cause of the poor woman's poverty. Pauline followed, whispering, "Mamma, I had much rather give my five dollars to her, than to buy the work-box, because my old one is very good." I found the woman was a Canadian, and belonged to a company of beggars, who go about with a wagon, once every year or two, collecting clothes and money, while they procure their daily food from house to house. I directed Phebe to give them a comfortable meal, but was sorry to be obliged to refuse my dear Pauline the luxury of clothing the destitute child. I was so much touched by witnessing her tears of disappointment, that I called her to her room, and selected a calico dress, apron and shoes from her wardrobe and allowed her to present them to the child. She hastily thrust her purse of money into my hand, and ran below, where beckoning the poor beggar into the shed, she soon transformed her into a neatly dressed girl. I endeavored to improve this opportunity to explain to my daughter the necessity of discrimination between the really necessitous, and impostors. It was very hard for her to believe that any mother could be so depraved as to permit her child to appear so ragged and dirty if she could possibly avoid it.
Saturday, August 16th.
During school hours this morning, the thought of the Canadian girl so troubled Pauline, that I was obliged to give her the lesson to review, as it was so imperfectly recited, which is a very unusual event. She is generally very prompt in her recitations, and already is a proficient in music, both vocal and instrumental, for which she has a fine ear. I prophesy that she will by and by far surpass her teacher.
This afternoon I was reading in the library, when she came running in from her walk, in a state of great excitement. "Oh! mamma," said she, bursting into tears, "I have seen the little girl again, and now I'm sure she has a bad mother, for her nice clothes were taken off, and she wore the same dirty, ragged ones as she did before. I don't think," she continued, "that the little girl is wicked, because she hung down her head and was ashamed to see me; but her mother came out of a house with a large bundle under her arm, and pulled her angrily away." As I saw this had made a great impression upon Pauline's mind, I determined to say no more at the time, but take her with me more frequently than I had done of late in my visits to the poor and distressed.
Wednesday, August 21st.
The Doctor requested me this morning to prepare a basket of food for one of his patients; and I determined to take Pauline with me, and deliver it in person to the family. I knew nothing of their circumstances, only their name, and a description of the small house which they occupy.
Cæsar readily found the place. Mrs. Fuller, the wife of the sick man, was washing out a few clothes in an open shed back of the building, while two children, of about five and three years of age, played in the dirt before the door. The eldest stopped her play to gaze at the carriage as we drove up, and ran to call her mother. We entered the dilapidated building, where a man lay sick of a fever. He was moaning sadly when we entered, and seemed hardly conscious; but his wife assured us he was so, and that he kept moaning and muttering something to himself all the time.
From the wife's account I found that Mr. Fuller, at the time she married him, was a mechanic in good business, and that they lived comfortably for two or three years, though her husband did not seem happy as at first. He gradually grew more and more idle, neglected his business, and would sit moping in the house from morning till night.
"Was he intemperate?" I inquired. "None to speak of," she replied. "He never took to drink." After conversing with her for a short time at the door, I gave her the basket of provisions, and asked her if she were at present in special need of anything. She was very grateful, and said the Doctor had provided all that was necessary, and I took my leave, promising if she would send for it, to supply her with milk for the children.
Friday, August 30th.
The Doctor says Mr. Fuller is much worse, and that he has something upon his mind which troubles him. He is not at all inclined to answer questions, but to-day when Frank went silently in, and bent over him, thinking him to be sleeping, the poor fellow said, "that's all I remember, there's no hurt in that, and if there is, I'm not answerable, 'twas nothing to me."
Frank put his fingers upon the pulse, when the sick man turned upon him with a terrible oath, and said wildly, "What did you hear? I said nothing. You can't take me up for that."
Frank soothed him by saying he had heard nothing of consequence, and feeling much interested for the sufferer, who appeared struggling with remorse of conscience for some crime, he sat long by him, endeavoring to point him to the Saviour, who can deliver from all sin.
Mr. Fuller listened as if for his life, and muttered two or three times, "If I could only believe it! If I could but think so!!" The Doctor prayed with him before he left. When he called Mrs. Fuller to the door, and related to her what he had heard, she burst into tears, and told him that for years past, he had at times said over and over the same words, to which she could attach no meaning; but she clasped her hands in agony, "Oh, dear," she said, "I am afraid he has been guilty of some dreadful crime, and that's what harrows him up so!"
"The cause is conscience; – Conscience oft
Her tale of guilt renews!
Her voice is terrible, though soft,
And dread of death ensues."
CHAPTER XXX
"For God unfolds, by slow degrees,
The purport of his deep decrees;
Sheds every hour a clearer light
In aid of our defective sight;
And spreads, at length, before the soul
A beautiful and perfect whole,
Which busy man's inventive brain
Toils to anticipate in vain." Cowper.
Wednesday, September 4th.
How true is the old adage, "Murder will out." It has certainly been verified in our village. But I will not anticipate. It was hardly light this morning, when the Doctor was summoned from bed to Mr. Fuller, who was dying, and had been calling for Dr. Lenox all night. At length, he became very urgent, and said, he could not die in peace till he had confessed the great sin that troubled his conscience. I waited with no little impatience for Frank's return; but nine o'clock came and there had only been a messenger for Cæsar to drive the buggy to the office.
It was long past the usual dinner hour when Frank returned. When he did so, I saw that something very unusual had taken place, for he hardly spoke, but frequently ceased eating, though he had taken no breakfast, and sat resting his head upon his hand.
Leaving the dining-room hurriedly, he said, "Cora, will you come to me in the library as soon as possible." I left Pauline with the little ones in the nursery, and followed him directly. He silently beckoned me to a seat near him, when he related as follows the scenes of the morning.
"Cora, do you remember the account I gave you years ago, of the setting up of the will of Joseph Lee, before the Probate Court?"
"Perfectly," I replied.
"Well, Fuller, who died this morning, was a witness, who testified that the business transacted by the lawyer, was merely a deed of gift to a poor widow. By his dying confession, however, he has unfolded a horrid plot of villany. Squire Lee at that very time made a second will, which no doubt was in Lucy's favor. He did indeed convey away the cottage at the same interview; but that was only a secondary part of the business." I sprang to my feet, and clapped my hands in an ecstasy.
"But what possible motive could he have had for perjuring himself?" I asked eagerly.
"He was hired to do so by the lawyer. I immediately sent a neighbor who was watching with my patient to a magistrate, and he took down the poor man's confession, together with many circumstances relating to the subject which will throw light on the villany. A writ was at once made out and served upon Joseph Lee and Oscar Colby, for conspiracy, and before nine o'clock, they were before the justice, by whom they were committed to jail to await their trial at the next term of the Criminal Court."
When the sheriff went to arrest them, Joseph was sleeping off the effects of his intoxication; and when dragged from his bed, and made to understand that he was arrested, he swore and raved so shockingly, that the sheriff told him, he would put him in irons if he was not quiet. Mr. Colby was different; he looked ghastly pale, while his eyes rolled from side to side; but he made no resistance.
Poor Lucy! Little reason as she has to love her brother, this will be a terrible blow to her affectionate heart. Although Joseph has been living at the Hall since last spring, yet he has never taken the least notice of her or her family, and even seems to have forgotten that he has a sister. The dear girl thought all her trials were over, she has been so contented and happy with her little family. She has a beautiful pair of twin boys. Emily is six years old. Frank says, it was a painful duty to inform her of the arrest of her brother, which he did this morning.
He was very much affected by her first words after he had told her of Mr. Fuller's confession. "Then my dear father did remember me;" and she burst into tears.
Thursday, September 5th.
Allen Mansfield called here this morning to consult with the Doctor, after having in vain sought him at the office. Nothing for years has caused such an excitement in the town; and corroborative testimony is constantly related by one and another, as to the certainty of a will. But where is it? That it was destroyed at the time is the current opinion. The vile character of the prisoners – the virtue of young Mansfield's family – the probable result of the trial – the length of imprisonment for such crimes – the motives which influenced Mr. Colby to such an act, are the universal themes of conversation.
Groups of men stand in the streets discussing the latest intelligence of the affair, while Lucy and her husband from being among the most quiet citizens of the place have been suddenly transformed into the lions of the day. Their every word and look is eagerly repeated from one to another. One benefit has already resulted from all this. Public attention and sympathy have been turned to the family of widow Fuller, and she has help flowing in from all quarters. In return, she has only to repeat some two or three dozen times a day the sad confession of her husband's crime. "I had it from the lips of the widow," is enough to draw a crowd of listeners eager for something to fan their already over-excited imaginations.
Even the Doctor is not without his share of attention, from being the one to whom the confession was originally made, and from being a particular friend of the Mansfields.
Monday, September 9th.
The excitement in town is constantly on the increase. Poor Lucy is almost as much a prisoner as her brother. She was riding out with her children a day or two since, when some one shouted, "there goes Mrs. Mansfield, sister to the prisoner," and a whole posse of boys ran shouting after the carriage. Such notoriety is by no means pleasing to her, and she is determined to avoid it in future. Mr. Willard, the District Attorney, who will manage the case for Allen, in behalf of the government, has grown very fast in public esteem for a few years, and is considered an uncommonly shrewd lawyer and an excellent advocate. Report says that Joseph has secured the services of an able and far famed lawyer from the city, and means to spare no expense to procure his acquittal at the coming trial, which does not take place until the fore-part of November. Mr. Willard, being on the spot, has every advantage of circumstantial testimony. He has already obtained a warrant to search the premises, and in company with a man appointed keeper by the sheriff, who served a writ attaching the whole for damages in behalf of Allen, went from room to room, examining every private drawer, desk, shelf, or crevice where such a document could be secreted. But it was all in vain; yet a more thorough search will be made to-morrow.
Joseph is in a shocking condition, caused by the involuntary and sudden cessation of his excess in drinking. His eyes seem ready to start from their sockets; and he is so violent in his demands for brandy, and so furious because he cannot obtain it that the jailor has been obliged to put him in irons. Mr. Colby is in a dreadful state of nervous excitement, and walks from morning till night back and forth in the small cell where he is confined. Upon one or two occasions, when Mr. Willard, in company with a sheriff, visited him, he would not deign a reply to any question they put to him.
Tuesday, September 10th.
Nothing whatever was found reflecting light upon this dark plot, on the most rigid examination of the whole premises. While Allen was there, a messenger came from the jailer to the sheriff for some clothes for Mr. Colby, who complained of the dampness of his cell.
The sheriff proceeded to the room which had been occupied by him, where various articles of apparel were thrown upon the chairs and around the room just as he left them the night previous to his arrest. Having fully examined a dressing gown and cloak, and ascertained that nothing was concealed in them, he gave them to the messenger.
Friday, September 20th.
Nothing of importance has transpired to throw light upon the all-engrossing topic. A slight suspicion was awakened in the mind of Mr. Willard by the increasing demand for clothes by Mr. Colby, and Hon. Mr. Marshall, the Attorney General, specially retained, gave orders that no more be sent him. Upon a re-examination, of every article of apparel in his room and wardrobe at the Hall, he has found nothing to justify such a suspicion.
But he is ever on the alert, and determined, if possible, to ferret out all the iniquitous proceedings. The daily papers are full of the most exaggerated accounts of these transactions, report of which has spread the excitement through the country.
Persons may be seen at all hours of the day walking past Lee Hall, wondering what room the prisoners occupied before their arrest, where the keeper remains, and making inquiries on these and a thousand other points of those of the neighbors and inhabitants whom they happen to meet.
Tuesday, November 5th.
Half past seven o'clock, A. M. The all-important day has at length arrived. Even at this early hour carriage after carriage from the adjoining towns rolls by toward the court House. Men and women are seen hurrying in the same direction, all eager to gain admission to the court room. For many years, no case has excited such deep and universal interest. The vast estate involved – the great respect for the family of Mr. Mansfield – the daring plot of Joseph and Colby – the horrible cruelty of the former toward his sister, driving her from the home of her childhood, have raised the excitement to the highest pitch. My hand trembles, and my heart goes "pit-a-pat" as I think of being present at the trial. The Doctor has kindly procured a permit for me to be there as a companion of Lucy, whose heart, poor girl, is ready to faint within her. I shall endeavor to take notes that I may give you and father an account of an American trial.
Thursday, November 7th.
On Tuesday morning, at half past eight, the Doctor came for me to go to the court. My hands were numb from excitement, and for a moment I felt inclined to remain at home; but summoning all my resolution, I stepped into the carriage, when Cæsar drove to Mr. Mansfield's, took in Lucy, who looked more as if she were to be tried as a criminal, than as if she were about to inherit an estate worth a million of dollars.
When the Doctor assisted us from the carriage, and I witnessed the immense crowd standing around the ponderous doors of the court-room, my limbs trembled beneath me, and I clung convulsively to my husband's arm.
"All filled up two hours ago!" – "No room!" – "You can't get in!" were shouted by men and boys on every side. Even the constables standing with a pole at the foot of the stairs told us, we could not proceed. But the Doctor paid no sort of heed to all this. With the air and bearing of a Lenox, he walked majestically on, merely bowing to the officer and pronouncing the word "witness;" when he stood one side to allow us to pass and to get through the crowd as best we could. I can hardly tell you how we were able to make our way up the stone steps to the room above. Sometimes the Doctor was recognized. At others, Lucy's pale face caused the eager crowd to stand yet a little closer and to allow us to press along.
At the inner door, near the head of the stairs, stood a sheriff, who on recognizing the Doctor opened the door, and we stood within the room. Another deputy sheriff came forward and gave us a seat with the witnesses. Here my husband pointed out to me the seats of the judge, and the jury, the boxes for the criminals and the other parts of this temple of justice.
I will describe them to you. The Court-room is large; I should judge, about fifty feet by sixty. On one end of the Hall is a raised platform called the bench, and occupied by the Judges, with private entrances on each side for the convenience of the court. In front of the bench and on an elevation about half as high, is a space enclosed with a railing within which are tables for the Clerk, District Attorney and Attorney General. Before this railing is a table for the reporters, at which are seated a goodly number with pen in hand, eager to catch every word of this terrible trial, and to send the report thereof by the dailies and by bulletins all over the country.
Running along on each side of the room are three banks of seats, resembling long slips or pews, and occupied by the witnesses and jury. A walk or aisle runs along at the foot of these seats. The large open area in front of the reporters and of this aisle, is circled with a railing within which are seats and small desks for members of the bar. Just beyond the railing and opposite to the Judge are boxes for the criminals with sharp iron pickets on the top. All the rest of the unoccupied space was crowded on this occasion with a dense mass of spectators, some of whom had been standing ever since the opening of the Court-room. – Over the end of the Hall was a gallery densely crowded. One by one, the Jurors, Clerk, Lawyers, District Attorney, Attorney General and Judge entered and took their seats. As the large clock in the room struck nine, officers appeared leading in the prisoners.
I was obliged to put my arm around my distressed friend. She looked ready to faint; but holding strong volatile salts to her nose, she endeavored to control her feelings. Frank and myself regretted extremely that the Attorney General thought it necessary to summon her as a witness.
The court opened. The Clerk read the Docket, from which it appeared that the Grand Jury had found three bills against the prisoners at the bar; for conspiracy in obtaining property under false pretences – for wilful perjury – and for fraud.
On motion of the Attorney General, it was ordered that they should be tried upon the first of these, as it related to the primary, and principal crime. The Clerk called upon the prisoners to arise and attend to the indictment on which they were arraigned.
"COMMONWEALTH OF MASSACHUSETTS
"County of – . At the Court of Common Pleas, begun and holden in Crawford, within the County of – , on the first Monday, being the fourth day of November, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and forty-four.
"The Grand Jurors for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, upon their oath present that Joseph Lee, and Oscar Colby, gentlemen, of the town of Crawford, in the county of – , not having the fear of God before their eyes, and being moved by an evil heart, and seduced by the instigations of the devil, on or about the first day of November, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and thirty-seven, in the town, county and commonwealth aforesaid, did wilfully and maliciously conspire together to secrete or destroy the last will and testament of one Joseph Lee deceased, of said town, county and commonwealth aforesaid. And did thereby feloniously and wilfully arrest the course of justice in the settlement of the estate of the deceased Joseph Lee, by setting up, and subsequently executing as his last will and testament, a will prior to his last, and thereby defrauding his legal heir or heirs, and so the Jurors upon their oath aforesaid do say that the said Joseph Lee, and Oscar Colby then and there, in the manner aforesaid, did commit the crime of conspiracy as aforesaid, against the peace of the Commonwealth aforesaid, and the laws in such cases made and provided.
A true bill.
James Frothingham, Foreman.John Marshall, Attorney General."
To this indictment the prisoners plead "not guilty." The Clerk then proceeded to impanel the jury.
Moses Willard, District Attorney, appeared and took his seat. The counsellors for the defendants were Edgar Burke, and Sylvanus Curtiss.
Clerk of the Court. "Gentlemen of the Jury, hearken to the indictment found against Joseph Lee, and Oscar Colby."
Here the Clerk read the indictment to the Jury, when he continued: "To this indictment, the defendants have plead not guilty, and have put themselves on the country, which country you are, and you are now sworn to try the issue."
District Attorney. "You perceive, Gentlemen of the Jury, by the indictment that has been read to you that Joseph Lee and Oscar Colby are charged by the Grand Jury of the body of this county with conspiracy to defraud, a crime punishable with the severest penalties of the law, and alleged by the indictment to have been committed by them feloniously, wilfully and maliciously. I need not portray to you the sad consequences which have already resulted from this villany.
"We intend to prove that the prisoners at the bar did at the time and place specified in the indictment, conspire together to destroy the last will and testament of one Joseph Lee deceased, and to set up as his last will and testament, a will prior to his last, and did thereby deprive his dutiful daughter of her patrimony, – a daughter who had for years administered to her sick father's necessities, smoothing by her affectionate care his passage to the grave; and that they drove her from the home of her childhood and youth on the very eve of her deceased father's burial, rendering her houseless, and shelterless, but for the protecting arm of her newly wedded companion.
"We intend to prove the sad consequences of this crime to the prisoners themselves."
Mr. Curtiss. "Your Honor, I must object to this appeal to personal sympathy, and personal prejudice."
District Attorney. "Your Honor, I beg not to be interrupted. I was only stating what the prosecution intend to prove. I was specifying the consequences of crime to the prisoners at the bar; but I forbear. The bloated face, and blood-shot eyes of the one, and the ghastly pallor of the other, speak far more than any words I could utter.
"Gentlemen of the Jury, I have no need to caution you against participating in the popular indignation at this crime, or not to fear the consequences of a faithful discharge of your whole duty. Your oath requires you to decide the question of the guilt or innocence of the prisoners according to law and evidence.
"The indictment charges them with Conspiracy. But, gentlemen, I will not detain you farther, except to cite authorities respecting the nature of this crime, the laws and penalties pertaining thereunto, and also to remark on the confidence to be placed in the confession of a dying man, which will soon be submitted to you."