MARRIAGE AGAIN.
Crucified the hopes that cheered me,
All that to the earth endeared me;
Love of wealth and fame and power,
Love,--all have been crucified.
C. E.
DARKNESS before day. Jane left, but Jack was now to come again. After
Mary's death he visited home, leaving a wife behind. An orphan whose
home was with a relative, gentle, loving, the true mate of kind,
generous Jack. His mother was a stranger to her, of course, and had
perfect right to interrogate:
"Is she good looking, Jack?" asked his mother.
"Looks well to me," was the laconic reply.
"Was her FATHER rich?"
"Not worth a copper, as I know of; I never asked him," answered Jack.
"Hadn't she any property? What did you marry her for," asked his mother.
"Oh, she's WORTH A MILLION dollars, mother, though not a cent of it is
in money."
"Jack! what do you want to bring such a poor being into the family, for?
You'd better stay here, at home, and let your wife go. Why couldn't you
try to do better, and not disgrace your parents?"
"Don't judge, till you see her," was Jack's reply, and immediately
changed the subject. It was no recommendation to his mother, and she did
not feel prepared to welcome her cordially now he was to come with his
wife. He was indignant at his mother's advice to desert her. It rankled
bitterly in his soul, the bare suggestion. He had more to bring. He now
came with a child also. He decided to leave the West, but not his
family.
Upon their arrival, Mrs. B. extended a cold welcome to her new daughter,
eyeing her dress with closest scrutiny. Poverty was to her a disgrace,
and she could not associate with any thus dishonored. This coldness was
felt by Jack's worthy wife, who only strove the harder to recommend
herself by her obliging, winning ways.
Mrs. B. could never let Jack be with her alone without complaining of
this or that deficiency in his wife.
He cared not so long as the complaints were piercing his own ears. He
would not have Jenny disquieted. He passed his time in seeking
employment.
A letter came from his brother Lewis, then at the South, soliciting his
services. Leaving his wife, he repaired thither.
Mrs. B. felt that great restraint was removed, that Jenny was more in
her own power. She wished to make her feel her inferiority; to relieve
Jack of his burden if he would not do it himself. She watched her
incessantly, to catch at some act of Jenny's which might be construed
into conjugal unfaithfulness.
Near by were a family of cousins, one a young man of Jack's age, who,
from love to his cousin, proffered all needful courtesy to his stranger
relative. Soon news reached Jack that Jenny was deserting her covenant
vows, and had formed an illegal intimacy with his cousin. Meantime Jenny
was told by her mother-inlaw that Jack did not marry her untrammelled.
He had another love whom he would be glad, even now, if he could, to
marry. It was very doubtful if he ever came for her.
Jenny would feel pained by her unwelcome gossip, and, glancing at her
child, she decided, however true it might be, she had a pledge which
would enchain him yet. Ere long, the mother's inveterate hate crept out
into some neighbor's enclosure, and, caught up hastily, they passed the
secret round till it became none, and Lewis was sent for, the brother by
whom Jack was employed. The neighbors saw her fade in health and
spirits; they found letters never reached their destination when sent by
either. Lewis arrived with the joyful news that he had come to take
Jenny home with him.
What a relief to her to be freed from the gnawing taunts of her
adversary.
Jenny retired to prepare for the journey, and Mrs. B. and Henry had a
long interview. Next morning he informed Jenny that new clothes would be
necessary, in order to make her presentable to Baltimore society, and he
should return without her, and she must stay till she was suitably
attired.
Disheartened, she rushed to her room, and, after relief from weeping,
wrote to Jack to come; to have pity on her, and take her to him. No
answer came. Mrs. Smith, a neighbor, watchful and friendly, suggested
that she write away from home, and employ some one to carry it to the
office who would elude Mrs. B., who, they very well knew, had
intercepted Jenny's letter, and influenced Lewis to leave her behind.
She accepted the offer, and Frado succeeded in managing the affair so
that Jack soon came to the rescue, angry, wounded, and forever after
alienated from his early home and his mother. Many times would Frado
steal up into Jenny's room, when she knew she was tortured by her
mistress' malignity, and tell some of her own encounters with her, and
tell her she might "be sure it wouldn't kill her, for she should have
died long before at the same treatment."
Susan and her child succeeded Jenny as visitors. Frado had merged into
womanhood, and, retaining what she had learned, in spite of the few
privileges enjoyed formerly, was striving to enrich her mind. Her
school-books were her constant companions, and every leisure moment was
applied to them. Susan was delighted to witness her progress, and some
little book from her was a reward sufficient for any task imposed,
however difficult. She had her book always fastened open near her, where
she could glance from toil to soul refreshment. The approaching spring
would close the term of years which Mrs. B. claimed as the period of her
servitude. Often as she passed the waymarks of former years did she
pause to ponder on her situation, and wonder if she COULD succeed in
providing for her own wants. Her health was delicate, yet she resolved
to try.
Soon she counted the time by days which should release her. Mrs. B. felt
that she could not well spare one who could so well adapt herself to all
departments--man, boy, housekeeper, domestic, etc. She begged Mrs. Smith
to talk with her, to show her how ungrateful it would appear to leave a
home of such comfort--how wicked it was to be ungrateful! But Frado
replied that she had had enough of such comforts; she wanted some new
ones; and as it was so wicked to be ungrateful, she would go from
temptation; Aunt Abby said "we mustn't put ourselves in the way of
temptation."
Poor little Fido! She shed more tears over him than over all beside.
The morning for departure dawned. Frado engaged to work for a family a
mile distant. Mrs. Bellmont dismissed her with the assurance that she
would soon wish herself back again, and a present of a silver
half-dollar.
Her wardrobe consisted of one decent dress, without any superfluous
accompaniments. A Bible from Susan she felt was her greatest treasure.
Now was she alone in the world. The past year had been one of suffering
resulting from a fall, which had left her lame.
The first summer passed pleasantly, and the wages earned were expended
in garments necessary for health and cleanliness. Though feeble, she was
well satisfied with her progress. Shut up in her room, after her toil
was finished, she studied what poor samples of apparel she had, and, for
the first time, prepared her own garments.
Mrs. Moore, who employed her, was a kind friend to her, and attempted to
heal her wounded spirit by sympathy and advice, burying the past in the
prospects of the future. But her failing health was a cloud no kindly
human hand could dissipate. A little light work was all she could
accomplish. A clergyman, whose family was small, sought her, and she was
removed there. Her engagement with Mrs. Moore finished in the fall.
Frado was anxious to keep up her reputation for efficiency, and often
pressed far beyond prudence. In the winter she entirely gave up work,
and confessed herself thoroughly sick. Mrs. Hale, soon overcome by
additional cares, was taken sick also, and now it became necessary to
adopt some measures for Frado's comfort, as well as to relieve Mrs.
Hale. Such dark forebodings as visited her as she lay, solitary and sad,
no moans or sighs could relieve.
The family physician pronounced her case one of doubtful issue. Frado
hoped it was final. She could not feel relentings that her former home
was abandoned, and yet, should she be in need of succor could she obtain
it from one who would now so grudgingly bestow it? The family were
applied to, and it was decided to take her there. She was removed to a
room built out from the main building, used formerly as a workshop,
where cold and rain found unobstructed access, and here she fought with
bitter reminiscences and future prospects till she became reckless of
her faith and hopes and person, and half wished to end what nature
seemed so tardily to take.
Aunt Abby made her frequent visits, and at last had her removed to her
own apartment, where she might supply her wants, and minister to her
once more in heavenly things.
Then came the family consultation.
"What is to be done with her," asked Mrs. B., "after she is moved there
with Nab?"
"Send for the Dr., your brother," Mr. B. replied.
"When?"
"To-night."
"To-night! and for her! Wait till morning," she continued.
"She has waited too long now; I think something should be done soon."
"I doubt if she is much sick," sharply interrupted Mrs. B.
"Well, we'll see what our brother thinks."
His coming was longed for by Frado, who had known him well during her
long sojourn in the family; and his praise of her nice butter and
cheese, from which his table was supplied, she knew he felt as well as
spoke.
"You're sick, very sick," he said, quickly, after a moment's pause.
"Take good care of her, Abby, or she'll never get well. All broken
down."
"Yes, it was at Mrs. Moore's," said Mrs. B., "all this was done. She did
but little the latter part of the time she was here."
"It was commenced longer ago than last summer. Take good care of her;
she may never get well," remarked the Dr.
"We sha'n't pay you for doctoring her; you may look to the town for
that, sir," said Mrs. B., and abruptly left the room.
"Oh dear! oh dear!" exclaimed Frado, and buried her face in the pillow.
A few kind words of consolation, and she was once more alone in the
darkness which enveloped her previous days. Yet she felt sure they owed
her a shelter and attention, when disabled, and she resolved to feel
patient, and remain till she could help herself. Mrs. B. would not
attend her, nor permit her domestic to stay with her at all. Aunt Abby
was her sole comforter. Aunt Abby's nursing had the desired effect, and
she slowly improved. As soon as she was able to be moved, the kind Mrs.
Moore took her to her home again, and completed what Aunt Abby had so
well commenced. Not that she was well, or ever would be; but she had
recovered so far as rendered it hopeful she might provide for her own
wants. The clergyman at whose house she was taken sick, was now seeking
some one to watch his sick children, and as soon as he heard of her
recovery, again asked for her services.
What seemed so light and easy to others, was too much for Frado; and it
became necessary to ask once more where the sick should find an asylum.
All felt that the place where her declining health began, should be the
place of relief; so they applied once more for a shelter.
"No," exclaimed the indignant Mrs. B., "she shall never come under this
roof again; never! never!" she repeated, as if each repetition were a
bolt to prevent admission.
One only resource; the public must pay the expense. So she was removed
to the home of two maidens, (old,) who had principle enough to be
willing to earn the money a charitable public disburses.
Three years of weary sickness wasted her, without extinguishing a life
apparently so feeble. Two years had these maidens watched and cared for
her, and they began to weary, and finally to request the authorities to
remove her.
Mrs. Hoggs was a lover of gold and silver, and she asked the favor of
filling her coffers by caring for the sick. The removal caused severe
sickness.
By being bolstered in the bed, after a time she could use her hands, and
often would ask for sewing to beguile the tedium. She had become very
expert with her needle the first year of her release from Mrs. B., and
she had forgotten none of her skill. Mrs. H. praised her, and as she
improved in health, was anxious to employ her. She told her she could in
this way replace her clothes, and as her board would be paid for, she
would thus gain something.
Many times her hands wrought when her body was in pain; but the hope
that she might yet help herself, impelled her on.
Thus she reckoned her store of means by a few dollars, and was hoping
soon to come in possession, when she was startled by the announcement
that Mrs. Hoggs had reported her to the physician and town officers as
an impostor. That she was, in truth, able to get up and go to work.
This brought on a severe sickness of two weeks, when Mrs. Moore again
sought her, and took her to her home. She had formerly had wealth at her
command, but misfortune had deprived her of it, and unlocked her heart
to sympathies and favors she had never known while it lasted. Her
husband, defrauded of his last means by a branch of the Bellmont family,
had supported them by manual labor, gone to the West, and left his wife
and four young children. But she felt humanity required her to give a
shelter to one she knew to be worthy of a hospitable reception. Mrs.
Moore's physician was called, and pronounced her a very sick girl, and
encouraged Mrs. M. to keep her and care for her, and he would see that
the authorities were informed of Frado's helplessness, and pledged
assistance.
Here she remained till sufficiently restored to sew again. Then came the
old resolution to take care of herself, to cast off the unpleasant
charities of the public.
She learned that in some towns in Massachusetts, girls make straw
bonnets--that it was easy and profitable. But how should SHE, black,
feeble and poor, find any one to teach her. But God prepares the way,
when human agencies see no path. Here was found a plain, poor, simple
woman, who could see merit beneath a dark skin; and when the invalid
mulatto told her sorrows, she opened her door and her heart, and took
the stranger in. Expert with the needle, Frado soon equalled her
instructress; and she sought also to teach her the value of useful
books; and while one read aloud to the other of deeds historic and names
renowned, Frado experienced a new impulse. She felt herself capable of
elevation; she felt that this book information supplied an undefined
dissatisfaction she had long felt, but could not express. Every leisure
moment was carefully applied to self-improvement, and a devout and
Christian exterior invited confidence from the villagers. Thus she
passed months of quiet, growing in the confidence of her neighbors and
new found friends.