(For The Ladies World)

By Paul Carson – July, 1893

Max is the eldest and has always done as he pleased.  He was thirty then.

I, Pauline, twenty-seven, Margaret, twenty-five and Paul, a college boy of twenty, were staying with our widowed mother at Max’s summer place on the Hudson, while he was roaming around out West.

One day Max wrote from a little town in Missouri:

“I am going fishing a month or so down in Missouri with a couple of friends; after that you can expect me home.”

Six weeks later he telegraphed from Kansas City:

“Home next Thursday with my wife.  Get the south rooms ready.”

We were stunned, but we had the rooms prepared for the bride.

The night they came we were gathered in the drawing-room to welcome them, and one glance showed us that our new sister was remarkably handsome.  A tall, dark-eyed woman of twenty-two, a great coil of black hair crowning head, beautiful lips, white, even teeth and an exquisite taste in dress which we learned afterward was inborn, for she was as uncultured as a roadside flower.

She was not at all embarrassed when Max presented her, evidently understood nothing of “social caste,” and was prepared to take her husband’s family into her heart, remarking:

“You-all must have been mighty surprised when you heard Max was married.”

We shuddered.  Within fifteen minutes Mrs. Max Lennox said: “‘Pears like,” “Them thar,” “You-all” and “Where’s it at?”

Mother was in agony, bravely suppressed.  Kind-hearted Margaret tried to ignore her uncouth language and remember only that the girl was a stranger and our brother’s wife, saying some courteous words of welcome.  The irrepressible Paul seemed to consider the affair a huge joke.  I coldly said “How do you do?” and walked away to the window to hide the angry tears that filled my eyes.  To think that Max, our handsome, talented brother, should have thrown himself away!

Presently he joined me and said:

“My wife does not seem to please you, Pauline.”

“You have disgraced us and broken our hearts, I cried, passionately.

His face flushed angrily as he retorted:

“Considering your training, you forget yourself in a manner that is positively vulgar;” then he went back to the group in the center of the room and I went upstairs unnoticed.

At breakfast I learned that the bride’s name was Juno, and that Max had given her some lessons in table etiquette with limited success onl, for in moments of forgetfulness, food reached her lovely mouth on the end of a knife.

A week passed.  We found that Juno, though utterly ignorant of social customs, had plenty of intelligence and not a little pride.  Having learned that she was an intruder among us, she ceased all attempts to win our affection and took refuge in a silent reserve.

Paul (of course not in Max’s presence), thinking a barbarian would not understand, ventured upon a little covert ridicule and insolence.

At last Juno turned upon him, her dark eyes blazing, the blood surging from her throat to her temples.

“Paul Lennox,” she said, “I don’t know nothing about manners nor fine folks, but in Missoury, even in the woods, when a man insults a woman, he’s lucky if they don’t kill him.”

It was not an elegant speech, but it was expressive, and Paul, with an amazed “I beg your pardon if I have offended you,” hastily retreated from the presence of our angry sister-in-law.

Up to this time we had no idea why our brother had chosen for his wife an uneducated woman, pefectly ignorant of all social conventionalities.  We were in the drawing-room one evening when Max inquired:

“Where is Juno?”

And Margaret replied: “In the conservatory.  She loves flowers.”

“Max,” said mother, abruptly, “the Hamiltons and Livingstones are coming here next week.  The arrangement was made before your marriage.  How can I introduce such a woman as the wife of my eldest son?  How could you marry her?” and in spite of her pride, her voice tembled.

Max got up from his chair and leaning against the mantel, faced us, saying:

“I will tell you, mother.  One afternoon, three of us were fishing in a small lake.  We had splendid luck, and the woods being dense, darkness overtook us unexpectedly.  Not sure of the road out, we started around the lake, looking for an outlet that we could follow.  We came suddenly upon an apparently empty hut, and having lighted our pocket lanterns we entered.  This girl, tied hand and foot and gagged with an old rag, lay upon the floor.  We released her, but she was so cramped that it was some time before she could stand.  After a little we learned that she was an orphan and ever since babyhood she had lived with an uncle at a little hamlet a couple of miles from the lake.  She had always been ill-treated.  At her marriage, some money would be hers.  The uncle insisted that his only son, whom Juno fears and hates, would make her a most suitable husband.  The girl declared she would die rather than marry this cousin, so that morning before daylight, the two men bound and gagged her and carried her to the hut, remarking that if she was alive twenty-four hours later, she would probably change her mind.  All she said was spoken directly to me.  Suddenly falling on her knees at my feet, she cried: ‘Take me away.  Save me, and I’ll be your servant always.  They are going to kill me so they can get the money.’  It occurred to all of us that it would be wise to get away from there at once.  Luckily, Juno knew (continued, please select appropriate page number below)

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