ELLEN SOLVES HER PROBLEM
The spectacle of complete happiness is so rare that it is valuable as
a phenomenon, even when its causes are not wholly commendable. A queen
upon her throne who knows no threatening usurper and has never trembled
at the voice of reforming democracy could have been no more confident
of herself and her position than Millie. She was beautiful--indeed,
she had long since decided correctly that none of her acquaintances
was so pretty. She was prosperous, she was a good Christian, she was
fulfilling the most honorable function of her sex.
As a prima donna who has sung gloriously gathers the roses of her
admirers, she gathered to her bosom as her due the affectionate care of
Matthew, the interest of her mother and sisters, and the approval of
Grandfather Milhausen. She gathered also the services of Ellen, given
willingly and with a virginal awe. She laughed at Ellen's innocence and
extended her knowledge in new directions.
Ellen did not consider her work drudgery, though she did all that
she and Mrs. Sassaman had done together and all that she and Millie
had done together. It was right that Millie should be taken care of,
and Ellen was too inexperienced to know that no young woman in that
hard-working and healthy community had ever expected such tender
indulgence.
Late in February occurred a regrettable incident in a peaceful life.
Matthew's correspondence had increased, and Ellen, who fetched the
mail from the box at the end of the lane, found many pamphlets with
the words "State College" on the corner of the envelope. Matthew, she
thought, would not care for them; the senders were wasting paper and
postage and pains.
But Matthew did care for them. At the end of a day which Ellen had
found unusually hard, he mentioned that he was going away for two
weeks. She looked at him astonished; Millie, she saw, was aware of his
intention. "Where are you going?"
"State College is to give a special course in the treatment of soils.
Many farmers will attend. I don't know whether they have anything
really valuable to teach, but I'm going to see."
Ellen laid down her spoon, which fell, not upon the saucer as she
intended, but into the cup, splashing the clean cloth.
"Well, Ellen!" cried Millie.
"You're going to school, then, Matthew! Surely you'll let me go in the
fall. You've changed your mind about education!"
Matthew frowned. It seemed to him that Ellen thought she had him in a
trap. "This is different."
"No, it isn't different!"
"This has to do with soils and the production of food for the human
race. It's not idle learning."
"Mine would not be idle learning. You're not fair. You're cheating me
out of what should be mine and taking it yourself!"
On the other side of the table Millie lifted a reproving face. If she
had been a little more sophisticated, she would have contrived to faint
or to have hysterics.
"It isn't safe for me to hear such discussions, Ellen. You should know
better than to try to quarrel now!"
Matthew looked at Millie in alarm. There was some ground for Ellen's
resentment, but her heart was wrong, her demands were wrong, her
carelessness of Millie's health was most wrong of all. He silenced her
roughly and effectively. "Can't you cut it out, Ellen? Especially under
these circumstances?"
Millie's convalescence after the birth of her baby was, as was to be
expected, a slow and luxurious process. Her mother, an inmate of the
Levis house for a month, scolded, the doctor admonished, but she lay at
ease, her young prince on her arm. When her mother departed, protesting
that only pity for Ellen had kept her so long, Millie took jealous care
of the baby. She sat day after day in the kitchen with him asleep in
her arms, being unwilling to trust the pleasant June air. She had been
slow to forgive what she chose to consider a wanton indifference to her
health, on Ellen's part, but that seemed now to be forgotten.
"Next time I'll be up sooner," she promised sweetly.
Ellen made no answer, having learned at last to hold her tongue. Her
body ached and her soul quivered. If Millie had been at all clever, she
would have assigned to her some of the care of little Matthew even in
addition to her own work, but Millie was not clever.
Late in September Grandfather Milhausen came one Sunday evening to
see his great-grandchild. He and a nervous and unwilling Amos walked
pilgrimwise along the road and at the entrance to the lane separated,
Amos going to the next farmhouse to attend to an errand. Poor Amos was
no happier, and the few hours of rest which he took in one of the cells
in Saron had made him no stouter. His ability to concentrate his mind
upon abstractions seemed to be destroyed, and outside of school hours
he had no occupation. Grandfather found Millie in the kitchen with her
baby. He laid his hand in blessing upon the little head and his eyes
gleamed. Here was an earnest for the future; this child might live to
complete the restoration of the Kloster which his elders were to begin.
"And where is Ellen?" he asked with a sigh. Ellen had not yet "come
round"; it was now more than three years since she had run away so
incontinently from the Saal and she had never returned.
"She went for a walk," explained Millie. "She's a great one to go off
alone, and I don't like it. It doesn't look well."
Matthew moved uneasily in his chair. It was natural for Millie to
express to him disapproval of Ellen's ways, but he did not like her to
complain to others.
"I'm sure that Ellen does no harm."
"I'm sure of that also. But it looks as though she wanted to be away
from us. She--"
The opening of the door interrupted Millie's sentence. It was plain
to Ellen entering that they had been discussing her--why, otherwise,
should they all look so self-conscious? Hearing a sound behind her, she
glanced nervously over her shoulder, to find that Amos had come round
the other corner of the house and was close at her heels. It had been
a day of heavy depression of spirit and of sharp irritability when she
had kept silence with difficulty. Her eyes met first of all Millie's,
in which she saw a startled and amused curiosity. Amos had with all the
brethren a reputation for immaculate behavior, but to Millie no one was
immaculate.
"Where have you two been?" she asked gayly. "Walking together?"
In her intense desire to turn attention from herself, Ellen uttered she
knew not what.
"We have a nice baby here, haven't we, Grandfather?"
Millie was not to be turned aside even by the praise of her offspring.
"You should have one just like him, Ellen," said she with her sharp
little laugh. "Then you wouldn't be so discontented."
"It isn't a subject to be jested about, Millie," said Grandfather
gravely. But he looked at the two young people with startled eyes. He
remembered that Amos had once defended Ellen; he remembered that he
had seemed to have for some time a burden on his mind. Alas, for the
restored Kloster with its monastic orders, its brethren and its holy
spiritual virgins, if Amos should go the way of all the world! Silence
followed Grandfather's reproof, and silence spread. Like graven images
Grandfather and Millie and Matthew sat in their chairs, and like graven
images Ellen and Amos stood by the door.
"I shall put corn in the east field next summer," said Matthew after a
long pause.
"So!" said Grandfather and returned to his alarmed speculation.
Millie's mischievous eyes went round and round the circle. They
signaled a laughing message to Matthew, they gazed with intense
amusement at Amos and Ellen. Ellen's blood raced through her veins and
angry thoughts through her mind. It seemed to her that she was on fire.
Amos stood with his eyes upon the floor, all the machinery of thought
paralyzed. Millie saw guilt written upon them both.
"Grandfather," she began again mischievously; but before she could go
on Matthew stopped her with the first remark which came into his mind.
Even Ellen's comment upon the baby had not been so unfortunately chosen.
"I have engaged Umbesheiden to cut the trees."
Ellen turned upon him swiftly, her eyes flashing.
"What trees?"
"I'm going to cut the woodland."
"My trees!"
"They are no more yours than mine. I have Grandfather's permission, and
it's only what any far-sighted person would do. It will in the end be
very profitable to you, as well as to me."
Ellen took a step forward. Here was the last of heaped-up injuries!
Considering the turmoil of anger and grief within, she spoke quietly.
"I've decided that unless you and Grandfather are willing for me to go
to college at once, I'm going to leave home altogether."
"Where are you going, Ellen?" Matthew asked gently. He knew that he had
postponed too long telling his plans, but Ellen made everything hard.
"I'm going to live with Mrs. Sassaman at her sister's and earn my
living."
"What for?"
"I promised Father I'd go to college."
"It was a foolish promise involving matters over which you had no
control."
"I promised him, too, that I'd go away. He didn't wish me to stay here,
so far from the world."
"The world!" repeated Amos to his despairing soul. He had read "Evelyn
Innes" again and still again; he understood even more clearly what had
happened to Evelyn.
"The world will ruin you!" warned Grandfather.
Millie meant to be exonerated. She was frightened--would she be left
without Ellen's help? "No sister-in-law was ever kinder than I to
Ellen. She has all the say about the house, about planning the work and
everything."
"I'm not complaining about you, Millie. Matthew, will you give me a
part of my money?"
"It would be against my conscience."
"Grandfather?"
Grandfather shook his head.
"What is your plan?" asked a placating Millie.
"I shall get work and save my money. I'm strong and well; it would be
very strange if I couldn't get along. At any rate, I'm going to try."
Matthew rose. Beside him Ellen looked pale and worn and young. He was
disturbed. It was not possible that she was serious! "You've been a
great help to us--I don't deny that. It all proves that you could
always be a good, earnest Christian girl if you would only be sensible."
He laid his hand on Ellen's shoulder. The house seconded Matthew and
pleaded with her; her affection for him pleaded. She was conscious
also of Amos near by, and suddenly certain instincts, hitherto
unrecognized, took advantage of her excitement. All pointed to the
easiest way, to acquiescence. It seemed for a moment that her father
was a stranger who had wandered across the path laid down for her by
many generations. Then suddenly she lifted her head and went swiftly
from the room.
"I believe she'll be all right," said Grandfather in a trembling voice.
"She has an inheritance to fight against her, but one also to fight for
her."
Matthew looked out the window into the darkness and after a moment he
wiped his eyes. Ellen's spirit, he believed, was broken, and there is
something terrible in the breaking of a spirit even to those who have
brought it about. He saw her in imagination lying upon her bed, crying
pitifully. Millie looked down at her baby. It would be dreadful to have
to give up her brooding hours! But Ellen would stay, of course, and she
hoped that now she was cured of her foolishness. Amos stood trembling
by the door. He wished to speak to them all, to reprove them, to attack
them, to insult them, even Grandfather, but most of all Millie. But it
would only make matters worse. He saw with relief that Grandfather was
rising and he stepped out and waited for him on the doorstone.
Matthew was mistaken about Ellen. She was not crying; she was standing
upright, listening at last like the prodigal in a far country to a
call. She went quietly about the house, bringing from the attic two
satchels and putting into them the few things which she owned. Each
motion had the deliberation of an act long planned. When she had
finished she undressed and lay down.
It was quite in character for Ellen next morning to wash the breakfast
dishes. Afterwards she changed her dress and appeared in the kitchen,
the smaller satchel in her hand.
"Good-bye, Millie."
Millie, sitting at ease, stared. "Where are you going?"
"I'm going away; I told you so last evening. I've written Mrs.
Sassaman's address on this piece of paper so that you'll know just
where I am. When I'm settled I'll write and Matthew will send my other
satchel. It's packed in my room."
"He didn't think you were going!" Millie grew pale. Matthew was, she
believed, offended with her. "He's in the field."
"Tell him good-bye for me."
"Are you going to walk to the station?"
"Yes."
Like a paralyzed person Millie submitted to Ellen's kiss; then she
looked at the closing door and round the kitchen. The washing was to
be done, and the ironing and baking and cooking and sweeping. In her
dismay she forgot even her sleeping baby; rising, she sped out past the
barn and across the fields to Matthew.
Ellen walked rapidly. She did not analyze her feeling and she did not
know whether she was excited or calm, glad or sorry; she knew only that
she was free. At the end of the second mile she paused. Before her the
road sloped steeply to the creek; beyond the creek the town climbed
the hill. To the right in the hollow, stood the steep-roofed buildings
and Grandfather's cottage and Amos's schoolhouse. She could hear the
droning voices of the children; not in fact, because it was too early
in the morning for school, but in memory. She saw the old trees and the
lambs at play and the little cemetery so close to the road. Ah, she
must hurry! Invisible arms seemed to reach out for her; she felt her
heart softening, her eyes filling with tears. Should she run in and say
good-bye to Grandfather? He was a very old man and she might not see
him again. But, no, she hastened down the hill, across the bridge and
up the broad street to the station, scarcely able to see through tears.
There, startled, she beheld Amos whose beauty was spectral.
"I had a feeling you would go, but none of them believed it," he said,
looking back over his shoulder as though he feared detection.
"Yes, I'm going." Ellen was frightened. Would he try to keep her?
"Can't you change your mind?"
Ellen shook her head. She heard with relief the whistle of the train.
"I shall pray for you!"
"Thank you, Amos."
"I needn't say to you, 'Be good!'"
"No," said Ellen soberly. "I'll be good without that."
From a receding platform she waved her hand.