THE WASTING HEART.
Then she took up the burden of life again
Saying only, "It might have been."
Alas for them both, alas for us all,
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall;
For of all sad words of lips, or pen,
The saddest are these--"It might have been."
--Whittier.
By the tacit consent of all parties, the meteor hope that had crossed
and vanished from Marah Rocke's path of life was never mentioned again.
Mother and son went about their separate tasks. Traverse worked at jobs
all day, studied at night and went twice a week to recite his lessons to
his patron, Doctor Day, at Willow Hill. Marah sewed as usual all day,
and prepared her boy's meals at the proper times. But day by day her
cheeks grew paler, her form thinner, her step fainter. Her son saw this
decline with great alarm. Sometimes he found her in a deep, troubled
reverie, from which she would awaken with heavy sighs. Sometimes he
surprised her in tears. At such times he did not trouble her with
questions that he instinctively felt she could not or would not answer;
but he came gently to her side, put his arms about her neck, stooped and
laid her face against his breast and whispered assurances of "his true
love" and his boyish hopes of "getting on," of "making a fortune" and
bringing "brighter days" for her.
And she would return his caresses, and with a faint smile reply that he
"must not mind" her, that she was only "a little low-spirited," that she
would "get over it soon."
But as day followed day, she grew visibly thinner and weaker; dark
shadows settled under her hollow eyes and in her sunken cheeks. One
evening, while standing at the table washing up their little tea
service, she suddenly dropped into her chair and fainted. Nothing could
exceed the alarm and distress of poor Traverse. He hastened to fix her
in an easy position, bathed her face in vinegar and water, the only
restoratives in their meager stock, and called upon her by every loving
epithet to live and speak to him. The fit yielded to his efforts, and
presently, with a few fluttering inspirations, her breath returned and
her eyes opened. Her very first words were attempts to reassure her
dismayed boy. But Traverse could no more be flattered. He entreated his
mother to go at once to bed. And though the next morning, when she
arose, she looked not worse than usual, Traverse left home with a heart
full of trouble. But instead of turning down the street to go to his
work in the town he turned up the street toward the wooded hills beyond,
now glowing in their gorgeous autumn foliage and burning in the
brilliant morning sun.
A half-hour's walk brought him to a high and thickly wooded hill, up
which a private road led through a thicket of trees to a handsome
graystone country seat, situated in the midst of beautifully ornamented
grounds and known as Willow Heights, the residence of Dr. William Day, a
retired physician of great repute, and a man of earnest piety. He was a
widower with one fair daughter, Clara, a girl of fourteen, then absent
at boarding-school. Traverse had never seen this girl, but his one great
admiration was the beautiful Willow Heights and its worthy proprietor.
He opened the highly ornate iron gate and entered up an avenue of
willows that led up to the house, a two-storied edifice of graystone,
with full-length front piazzas above and below.
Arrived at the door he rang the bell, which was answered promptly by a
good-humored-looking negro boy, who at once showed Traverse to the
library up-stairs, where the good doctor sat at his books. Dr. Day was
at this time about fifty years of age, tall and stoutly built, with a
fine head and face, shaded by soft, bright flaxen hair and beard:
thoughtful and kindly dark-blue eyes, and an earnest, penetrating smile
that reached like sunshine the heart of any one upon whom it shone. He
wore a cheerful-looking flowered chintz dressing-gown corded around his
waist; his feet were thrust into embroidered slippers, and he sat in his
elbow-chair at his reading-table poring over a huge folio volume. The
whole aspect of the man and of his surroundings was kindly cheerfulness.
The room opened upon the upper front piazza, and the windows were all up
to admit the bright, morning sun and genial air, at the same time that
there was a glowing fire in the grate to temper its chilliness.
Traverse's soft step across the carpeted floor was not heard by the
doctor, who was only made aware of his presence by his stepping between
the sunshine and his table. Then the doctor arose, and with his intense
smile extended his hand and greeted the boy with:
"Well, Traverse, lad, you are always welcome! I did not expect you until
night, as usual, but as you are here, so much the better. Got your
exercises all ready, eh? Heaven bless you, lad, what is the matter?"
inquired the good man, suddenly, on first observing the boy's deeply
troubled looks.
"My mother sir! my mother!" was all that Traverse could at first utter.
"Your mother! My dear lad, what about her? Is she ill?" inquired the
doctor, with interest.
"Oh, sir, I am afraid she is going to die?" exclaimed the boy in a
choking voice, struggling hard to keep from betraying his manhood by
bursting into tears.
"Going to die! Oh, pooh, pooh, pooh! she is not going to die, lad. Tell
me all about it," said the doctor in an encouraging tone.
"She has had so much grief and care and anxiety, sir--doctor, is there
any such malady as a broken heart?"
"Broken heart? Pooh, pooh! no, my child, no! never heard of such a thing
in thirty years' medical experience! Even that story of a porter who
broke his heart trying to lift a ton of stone is all a fiction. No such
a disease as a broken heart. But tell me about your mother."
"It is of her that I am talking. She has had so much trouble in her
life, and now I think she is sinking under it; she has been failing for
weeks, and last night while washing the teacups she fainted away from
the table!"
"Heaven help us! that looks badly," said the doctor.
"Oh, does it?--does it, sir? She said it was 'nothing much.' Oh, doctor,
don't say she will die--don't! If she were to die, if mother were to
die, I'd give right up! I never should do a bit of good in the world,
for she is all the motive I have in this life! To study hard, to work
hard and make her comfortable and happy, so as to make up to her for all
she has suffered, is my greatest wish and endeavor! Oh, don't say mother
will die! it would ruin me!" cried Traverse.
"My dear boy, I don't say anything of the sort! I say, judging from your
account, that her health must be attended to immediately. And--true I
have retired from practice, but I will go and see your mother,
Traverse."
"Oh, sir, if you only would! I came to ask you to do that very thing. I
should not have presumed to ask such a favor for any cause but this of
my dear mother's life and health, and--you will go to see her?"
"Willingly and without delay, Traverse," said the good man, rising
immediately and hurrying into an adjoining chamber.
"Order the gig while I dress, Traverse, and I will take you back with
me," he added, as he closed the chamber door behind him.
By the time Traverse had gone down, given the necessary orders and
returned to the library the doctor emerged from his chamber, buttoned up
his gray frock-coat and booted, gloved and capped for the ride.
They went down together, entered the gig and drove rapidly down the
willow avenue, slowly through the iron gate and through the dark thicket
and down the wooded hill to the high road, and then as fast as the
sorrel mare could trot toward town. In fifteen minutes the doctor pulled
up his gig at the right-hand side of the road before the cottage gate.
They entered the cottage, Traverse going first in order to announce the
doctor. They found Mrs. Rocke, as usual, seated in her low chair by the
little fire, bending over her needlework. She looked up with surprise as
they came in.
"Mother, this is Doctor Day, come to see you," said Traverse.
She arose from her chair and raised those soft and timid dark gray eyes
to the stranger's face, where they met that sweet, intense smile that
seemed to encourage while it shone upon her.
"We have never met before, Mrs. Rocke, but we both feel too much
interest in this good lad here to meet as strangers now," said the
doctor, extending his hand.
"Traverse gives me every day fresh cause to be grateful to you, sir, for
kindness that we can never, never repay," said Marah Rocke, pressing
that bountiful hand and then placing a chair, which the doctor took.
Traverse seated himself at a little distance, and as the doctor
conversed with and covertly examined his mother's face he watched the
doctor's countenance as if life and death hung upon the character of its
expression. But while they talked not one word was said upon the subject
of sickness or medicine. They talked of Traverse. The doctor assured his
mother that her boy was of such fine talent, character and promise, and
that he had already made such rapid progress in his classical and
mathematical studies, that he ought immediately to enter upon a course
of reading for one of the learned professions.
The mother turned a smile full of love, pride and sorrow upon the fine,
intellectual face of her boy, and said:
"You are like the angel in Cole's picture of life! You point the youth
to the far-up temple of fame----"
"And leave him to get there as he can? Not at all, madam! Let us see:
Traverse, you are now going on eighteen years of age; if you had your
choice which of the learned professions would you prefer for
yourself--law, physic or divinity?"
The boy looked up and smiled, then dropped his head and seemed to
reflect.
"Perhaps you have never thought upon the subject. Well, you must take
time, so as to be firm in your decision when you have once decided,"
said the doctor.
"Oh, sir, I have thought of it long, and my choice has been long and
firmly decided, were I only free to follow it."
"Speak, lad; what is your choice?"
"Why, don't you know, sir? Can't you guess? Why, your own profession, of
course, sir! certainly, sir, I could not think of any other!" exclaimed
the boy, with sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks.
"That's my own lad!" exclaimed the doctor, enthusiastically, seizing the
boy's hand with one of his and clapping the other down upon his
palm--for if the doctor had an admiration in the world it was for his
own profession. "That's my own lad! My profession! the healing art! Why,
it is the only profession worthy the study of an immortal being! Law
sets people by the ears together. Divinity should never be considered as
a profession--it is a divine mission! Physic--physic, my boy! the
healing art! that's the profession for you! And I am very glad to hear
you declare for it, too, for now the way is perfectly clear!"
Both mother and son looked up in surprise.
"Yes, the way is perfectly clear! Nothing is easier! Traverse shall come
and read medicine in my office! I shall be glad to have the lad there.
It will amuse me to give him instruction occasionally. I have a positive
mania for teaching!"
"And for doing good! Oh, sir, how have we deserved this kindness at your
hands, and how shall we ever, ever repay it?" cried Mrs. Rocke, in a
broken voice, while the tears filled her gentle eyes.
"Oh, pooh, pooh! a mere nothing, ma'am! a mere nothing for me to do,
whatever it may prove to him. It is very hard, indeed, if I am to be
crushed under a cart-load of thanks for doing something for a boy I
like, when it does not cost me a cent of money or a breath of effort!"
"Oh, sir, your generous refusal of our thanks does but deepen our
obligation!" said Marah, still weeping.
"Now, my dear madam, will you persist in making me confess that it is
all selfishness on my part? I like the boy, I tell you! I shall like his
bright, cheerful face in my office! I can make him very useful to me;
also----"
"Oh, sir, if you can and will only make him useful to you----"
"Why, to be sure I can and will! He can act as my clerk, keep my
accounts, write my letters, drive out with me and sit in the rig while I
go in to visit my patients, for though I have pretty much retired from
practice, still----"
"Still you visit and prescribe for the sick poor, gratis!" added Marah,
feelingly.
"Pooh, pooh! habit, madam--habit! 'ruling passion strong as death,' etc.
I can't for the life of me keep from giving people bread pills. And now,
by the way, I must be off to see some of my patients in Staunton.
Traverse, my lad--my young medical assistant, I mean--are you willing to
go with me?"
"Oh, sir," said the boy, and here his voice broke down with emotion.
"Come along, then," laughed the doctor; "You shall drive with me into
the village as a commencement."
Traverse got his hat, while the doctor held out his hand to Mrs. Rocke,
who, with her eyes full of tears and her voice faltering with emotion,
began again to thank him, when he good-humoredly interrupted her by
saying:
"Now my good little woman, do pray, hush. I'm a selfish fellow, as
you'll see. I do nothing but what pleases my own self and makes me
happy. Good-by; God bless you, madam," he said, cordially shaking her
hand. "Come, Traverse," he added, hurriedly striding out of the door and
through the yard to the gate, before which the old green gig and sorrel
mare were still waiting.
"Traverse, I brought you out again to-day more especially to speak of
your mother and her state of health," said Doctor Day, very seriously,
as they both took their seats in the gig and drove on toward the town.
"Traverse, your mother is in no immediate danger of death; in fact, she
has no disease whatever."
"Oh, sir, you do not think her ill, then! I thought you did not, from
the fact that you never felt her pulse or gave her a prescription,"
exclaimed Traverse, delightedly, for in one thing the lad resembled his
mother--he was sensitive and excitable--easily depressed and easily
exhilarated.
"Traverse, I said your mother is in no immediate danger of death, for
that, in fact, she has no disease; but yet, Traverse, brace yourself up,
for I am about to strike you a heavy blow. Traverse, Marah Rocke is
starving!"
"Starving! Heaven of heavens! no! that is not so! it cannot be! My
mother starving! oh, horrible! horrible! But, doctor, it cannot--cannot
be! Why, we have two meals a day at our house!" cried the boy, almost
beside himself with agitation.
"Lad, there are other starvations besides the total lack of food. There
are slow starvations and divers ones. Marah Rocke is starving slowly and
in every way--mind, soul and body. Her body is slowly wasting from the
want of proper nutriment, her heart from the want of human sympathy, her
mind from the need of social intercourse. Her whole manner of life must
be changed if she is to live at all."
"Oh, sir, I understand you now. I feel, I feel that you speak the very
truth. Something must be done. I must do something. What shall it be?
Oh, advise me, sir."
"I must reflect a little, Traverse," said the doctor, thoughtfully, as
he drove along with very slack reins.
"And, oh, how thoughtless of me! I forgot--indeed, I did, sir--when I so
gladly accepted your offer for me to read with you. I forgot that if I
spent every day reading in your office, my mother would sadly miss the
dollar and a half a week I make by doing odd jobs in town."
"But I did not forget it, boy; rest easy upon that score; and now let me
reflect how we can best serve your good little mother," said the doctor;
and he drove slowly and thoughtfully along for about twenty minutes
before he spoke again, when he said:
"Traverse, Monday is the first of the month. You shall set in with me
then. Come to me, therefore, on Monday, and I think by that time I shall
have thought upon some plan for your mother. In the mean time, you make
as much money at jobs as you can, and also you must accept from me for
her a bottle or so of port wine and a turkey or two. Tell her, if she
demurs, that it is the doctor's prescription, and that, for fear of
accident, he always prefers to send his own physic."
"Oh, Doctor Day, if I could only thank you aright!" cried Traverse.
"Pooh, pooh! nonsense! there is no time for it. Here we are at Spicer's
grocery store, where I suppose you are again employed. Yes? Well, jump
out, then. You can still make half a day. Mind, remember on Monday next,
December 1st, you enter my office as my medical student, and by that
time I shall have some plan arranged for your mother. Good-by; God bless
you, lad," said the good doctor, as he drove off and left Traverse
standing in the genial autumn sunshine, with his heart swelling and his
eyes overflowing with excess of gratitude and happiness.