IT’S ONLY A STROKE.
The first part of the service passed by as usual, disturbed only by the
occasional rustle of a silk dress, or the carefully hushed footstep up
the aisles of some late comer, and the moment for the prayer before the
sermon was come. Every head was bent, and a deep stillness prevailed,
which grew more and more profound as the minister’s voice still
remained silent, as if he was waiting until there was no stir or rustle
or movement to be heard throughout the congregation.
There was something awful in this solemn pause before his voice was
lifted up to God; and, as it prolonged itself, a sigh, it might have
been from the minister’s inmost heart, was heard by those nearest to
the pulpit. One or two looked up, and saw his head bowed down, with
the softened light of the lamps falling upon the silvery streaks of his
hair, and they dropped their faces again upon their hands, waiting.
Then there ran a thrill and a shiver through all the congregation,
and here and there a sob which could no longer be repressed broke the
laboring silence.
After that there were whispers and murmurs, and faces lifted up with
a vague dread upon them; and still the minister did not raise his
face from the crimson cushion that his voice might allay the growing
agitation. His children were looking up at last; and Jessica had risen
from her knees and was gazing up with eager eyes to his drooping head.
There was a stir now, and the spell of silence was broken; while
Jessica, forgetful of everything but her deep love for him, ran swiftly
up the steps and touched him timidly with her hand. The minister
neither spoke nor moved.
The great congregation was in a tumult instantly, standing up, and
talking, and crying out with hysterical sobs, and pushing out of their
pews, and thronging towards the pulpit. In a few minutes the minister
was carried down into the vestry, and the crowd gathered about the
door of it. Some of the chief men belonging to the chapel urged the
congregation to disperse and return to their homes; but they were
too much excited to leave before it was known what had befallen the
minister.
Jessica pushed her way--being small and nimble, and used to crowds--to
the very door of the vestry, where Daniel stood to guard it from being
invaded by too many strangers; and she waited there beside him until
the door was opened by a hand-breadth, and a physician whispered from
within, “It is not death, but a stroke.”
More quickly than the words could be carried from lip to lip among the
crowd Jessica glided through the midst to the pew where the minister’s
children were kneeling, with arms about one another, sobbing out
inarticulate prayers to God. She stood for a moment beside them,
scarcely knowing what to say, and then she fell down on her knees by
Winny, and put her lips close to her ear.
“Miss Winny,” she said with a trembling voice, “the doctor says it’s
nothing but a stroke. He isn’t taken with death, Miss Jane; it’s only a
stroke.”
The children started up eagerly and caught Jessica’s hands, clinging
to her as some one older and wiser than themselves. They had had no
bitter taste of life’s troubles before this, for their mother had been
taken from them before they were old enough to understand their loss,
and their lives had been tenderly smoothed and cared for. That Jessica
should bring them some intelligence and consolation in their sudden
panic of dread invested her with a kind of superiority; so now they
looked to her as one who could help and counsel them.
“What is a stroke, Jessica?” asked Jane, looking imploringly towards
her with her white face.
“I don’t hardly know,” answered Jessica. “I know what strokes used to
be when I lived with mother; but this is different, Miss Jane; this
stroke comes from God, and it cannot be very bad.”
The children were all three of them silent after Jessica had spoken:
but each one of them was gathering comfort and strength from her
words. It was a stroke which had come from God, and therefore it could
not be very bad. No one had seen it fall; no one had known that the
Father’s hand was lifted up to strike, and it had come down softly
and gently, only hushing the voice and shutting up the gateway of the
senses. Now that it was known, the chapel was gradually emptying as
the congregation went away, and Jane and Winny, feeling calmed and
strengthened, were ready to listen to their nurse, who was now anxious
to take them home.
“Let Jessica come home with us, nurse,” said Winny, who still held
Jessica’s hand between both her own. The nurse consented willingly,
and in a few minutes they were walking homewards, one on each side
of Jessica. They felt strangely bewildered still; but Jessica was
like a guide to them, leading them through the fog and over the slimy
crossings with familiar confidence, until they reached the door of the
minister’s house, when she hung back shyly, as if not meaning to go in
with them.
“You mustn’t leave us yet,” cried Winny, impetuously. “Papa is not come
home, and I’m a little bit afraid. Aren’t you afraid, Jessica?”
“No,” answered Jessica cheerfully. “It can’t be anything dreadful bad.”
“You must come in and stay with us,” said Jane, the calm sedateness of
her manner a little shaken by her fears. “Nurse, we will take Jessica
into papa’s study till he comes home.”
The three children went quietly up stairs to the study and sat down
by the fire, which was burning brightly, as if waiting to welcome
the minister’s return after the labors of the day. The minister had
gathered about him many books, so that every part of the large room was
filled with them.
On the table lay those which he had been studying during the week,
while he was preparing his elaborate sermon which was to have
astonished and electrified even his accustomed hearers; and upon the
desk there were scattered about the slips of paper upon which he
had jotted down some of the profound thoughts which only a few of
his people could comprehend. But upon the chimney-piece, at the end
where his easy-chair was placed, and close to his hand, lay a small
pocket-Bible, so worn with much reading that there was no book in his
study like it.
The troubled children sitting on the hearth knew nothing of the
profound and scholarly volumes on the table; but they were familiar
with the little Bible, and Winny, taking it in her hand, lifted it to
her lips and kissed it fondly.
“Papa always used to read and talk to us on a Sunday night after we had
come home,” she said sorrowfully, speaking already as if the custom was
one long past, which could never be resumed.
“Does a stroke last long, Jessica?” inquired Jane, with a look of deep
anxiety.
“I’m not sure,” answered Jessica. “Mother’s strokes were sharp and soon
over, but the smart lasted a long while. Maybe the stroke is now over,
but perhaps the smart will last a little while. God knows.”
“Yes,” said Jane, the tears standing in her eyes, “and God knows what
is best for papa and us. We’ve known that a long time, but now we must
believe it with our hearts.”
“Believing is a deal harder than knowing,” remarked Winny, with
a look wonderfully like her father’s, and the three children were
silent again, their minds full of thought, while they listened for the
minister’s return to his home.