LAUNCHED
Scarcely was the last word spoken when a sudden glory filled the room.
So brilliant was the light that mother and son were startled. Then
they saw what had been unnoted before, that day had broken, and that
the sun, emerging from a single dark cloud, was shining, full-orbed,
into the apartment with a light that, reflected from myriads of snowy
crystals, was doubly luminous. Nevertheless it seemed to them a good
omen, an earnest, an emblem of the purer, whiter light into which the
cleansed and pardoned spirit had entered. The snow-wrapped prairie was
indeed pure and bright, but it was _cold_. The Father's embrace,
receiving home the long-absent, erring, but forgiven child, would be
warm indeed.
Though the bereaved wife believed that a brighter dawn than that which
made the world resplendent around her had come to her husband, still
a sense of desolation came over her which only those can understand
who have known a loss like hers. For years he had filled the greater
part of time, thought, and heart. As she saw her first and only love,
the companion of a life which, though hard, still had the light and
solace of mutual affection--as she saw him so still, and realized that
she would hear him speak no more--_complain_ no more (for even the
weaknesses of those we love are sadly missed after death)--a flood
of that natural sorrow which Christianity consoles, but was never
designed to prevent, overwhelmed her, and she gave way utterly.
Her son took her in his arms and held her silently, believing that
unspoken sympathy was worth more at such a time than any words.
After the convulsive sobbing had somewhat ceased, he struck the right
chord by saying: "Mother, father is not lost to us. He himself said
good-by only for a little while. Then you have us to love and think
of; and remember, what could we do without you?"
The unselfish woman would have tried to rise from a bed of death to
do anything needed by her loved ones, and this reminder of those still
dependent on her care proved the most potent of restoratives. She at
once arose and said: "Dennis, you are right. It is indeed wrong for
me to give way thus, when I have so much to be thankful for--so much
to live for. But, O Dennis! you cannot understand this separation of
husband and wife, for God said, 'They twain shall be one flesh'; and
it seems as if half my very life had gone--as if half my heart had
been wrenched away, and only a bleeding fragment left."
The patter of feet was heard on the kitchen floor, the door opened,
and two little figures in white trailing nightgowns entered. At first
they looked in shy wonder and perplexity at their tall brother, whom
they had not seen for months, but at his familiar voice, recalling
many a romp and merry time together, they rushed to his arms as of old.
Then they drew near the bed to give their father his accustomed morning
kiss; but, as they approached, he seemed so still that awe began to
creep over their little faces. A dim recollection of the farewell kiss
given a few hours before, when they were scarcely awake, recurred to
them.
"Father," said the elder (about five), "we want to give you
good-morning kiss."
Seldom had their father been so sick or irritable but that he reached
out his arms to his little ones and gave them a warm embrace, that did
him more good than he realized. The influence of trusting children is
sometimes the most subtile oil that can be thrown on the troubled
waters of life.
But as the little ones saw that their father made no response to their
approach and appeal, they timidly drew a step nearer, and looked into
his wasted, yet peaceful face, with its closed eyes and motionless
repose, and then, turning to their mother, said in a loud whisper,
with faces full of perplexity and trouble, "Is papa asleep?"
The little figures in their white drapery, standing beside their dead
father, waiting to perform the usual, well-remembered household rite,
proved a scene too touching for the poor mother's self-control, and
again she gave way to a burst of sorrow. But her son, true to his
resolution to be the stay and strength of the family, hastened to the
children, and, taking them by the hand, said gently: "Yes, little ones,
papa is asleep. It may be a long time before he wakes, but he surely
will by and by, and then he will never be sick any more. Come, we will
go into the other room and sing a pretty hymn about papa's sleep."
The thought of hearing their brother sing lured them away at once, for
he had a mellow tenor voice that seemed to the little girls sweeter
than a bird's. A moment later the widow's heart was comforted by hearing
those words that have been balm for so many wounds:
"Asleep in Jesus! blessed sleep!
From which none ever wakes to weep."
Then, putting on his sisters' flannel wrappers, he set them down by
the fire, telling stories in the meantime to divert their thoughts
from the scene they had just witnessed.
Thus no horror of death was suffered to enter their young minds. They
were not brought face to face with a dreadful mystery which they could
not understand, but which would have a sinister effect for life.
Gradually they would learn the truth, but still the first impression
would remain, and their father's death would ever be to them a sleep
from which he would wake by and by, "never to be sick any more."
Dennis set about preparations for their simple morning meal so deftly
and easily as to show that it was no unaccustomed task. A sister older
than himself had died while yet an infant, leaving a heartache till
he came--God's best remedy. Then two sisters had died after his day,
and he had been compelled to be to his mother daughter as well as son,
to make himself useful in every household task. His father had been
wrapped up in useless inventions, vain enterprises, and was much away.
So mother and son were constantly together. He had early become a great
comfort and help to her, God blessing her in this vital respect, though
her lot seemed hard in other ways. Thus, while he had the heart and
courage of a man, he also had the quick, supple hand and gentle bearing
of a woman, when occasion required. As proof of his skill, a tempting
meal from the simplest materials was placed smoking on the table, and
the little girls were soon chatting contentedly over their breakfast.
In the meantime the wife within had drawn near her dead husband and
taken his cold hand. For a while she dwelt on the past in strong and
tearful agony, then, in accordance with long-established habit, her
thoughts went forward into the future. In imagination she was present
at her husband's reception in heaven. The narrow, meagre room melted
away, and her feet seemed to stand on the "golden pavement." The
jubilant clash of heavenly cymbals thrilled her heart. She seemed
taking part in a triumphal march led by celestial minstrelsy toward
the throne. She saw her husband mount its white, glistening steps, so
changed, and yet so like his former self when full of love, youth, and
hope. He appeared overwhelmed with a sense of unworthiness, but his
reception was all the more kind and reassuring. Then as he departed
from the royal presence, crowned with God's love and favor forever,
though he had all heaven before him, he seemed looking for her as that
he longed for most, and her strong effort to reach his side aroused
her from her revery as from a dream. But her vision had strengthened
her, as was ever the case, and the bitterness of grief was passed.
Imprinting a long kiss on her husband's cold forehead, she joined her
family in the outer room with calm and quiet mien. Her son saw and
understood the change in his mother's manner, and from long experience
knew its cause.
We need not dwell on what followed--preparations for burial, the
funeral, the return to a home from which one who had filled so large
a place had gone--a home on which rested the shadow of death. These
are old, familiar scenes, acted over and over every day, and yet in
the little households where they occur there is a terrible sense of
novelty as if they then happened for the first time. The family feel
as if they were passing through a chaotic period--the old world breaking
up and vanishing, and a new formation and combination of all the
elements that make up life taking place.
Many changes followed. Their farm was sold. Part of a small house in
the village of Bankville was rented as their future residence. A very
small annuity from some property in the East, left by Mrs. Fleet's
father, was, with Dennis's labor, all the family had to depend on
now--a meagre prospect.
But Dennis was very sanguine; for in this respect he had his father's
temperament. The world was all before him, and Chicago, the young and
giant city of the West, seemed an Eldorado, where fortune, and perhaps
fame, might soon be won. He would not only place the family beyond
want, but surround them with every luxury.
Dennis, wise and apt as far as his knowledge went, was in some respects
as simple and ignorant as a child. There were many phases and conditions
of society of which he had never dreamed. Of the ways of the rich and
fashionable, of the character of artificial life, he had not the
remotest experience. He could not see or understand the distinctions
and barriers that to the world are more impassable than those of
ignorance, stupidity, and even gross immorality. He would learn, to
his infinite surprise, that even in a Western democratic city men would
be welcomed in society whose hand no pure woman or honorable man ought
to touch, while he, a gentleman by birth, education, and especially
character, would not be recognized at all. He would discover that
wealth and the indorsement of a few fashionable people, though all
else were lacking, would be a better passport than the noblest qualities
and fine abilities. As we follow him from the seclusion of his simple
country home into the complicated life of the world, all this will
become apparent.
Long and earnest was the conversation between mother and son before
they separated. Pure and noble were the maxims that she sought to
instil into his mind. They may not have been worldly wise, but they
were heavenly wise. Though some of her advice in the letter might avail
little, since she knew less of the world than did her son, still in
its spirit it contained the best of all wisdom, profitable for this
life and the life to come. But she sent him forth to seek his fortune
and theirs with less solicitude than most mothers have just cause to
feel, for she knew that he had Christian principle, and had passed
through discipline that had sobered and matured him far beyond his
years. She saw, however, in every word and act his father's sanguine
temperament. He was expecting much, hoping far more, and she feared
that he also was destined to many a bitter disappointment. Still she
believed that he possessed a good strong substratum of common-sense,
and this combined with the lessons of faith and patience taught of God
would prove the ballast his father had lacked.
She sought to modify his towering hopes and rose-colored visions, but
to little purpose. Young, buoyant, in splendid health, with a surplus
of warm blood tingling in every vein, how could he take a prudent,
distrustful view of the world? It seemed to beckon him smilingly into
any path of success he might choose. Had not many won the victory? and
who ever felt braver and more determined than he, with the needs of
the dear ones at home added to his own incentives and ambitions? So,
with many embraces, lingering kisses, and farewell words, that lost
not their meaning though said over and over again, they parted. The
stage carried him to the nearest railway station, and the express train
bore him rapidly toward the great city where he expected to find all
that a man's heart most craves on earth.
Sanguine as his father, constant as his mother, with a nature that
would go right or wrong with tremendous energy, as direction might be
given it, he was destined to live no tame, colorless life, but would
either enjoy much, or else suffer much. To his young heart, swelling
with hopes, burning with zeal to distinguish himself and provide for
those he was leaving, even the bleak, snow-clad prairie seemed an arena
in which he might accomplish a vague something.