THE SHOCK.
THINGS went on very pleasantly at Brooksville for two or three weeks
after Edah's visit to Spring Bank. Mrs. Champlin's health seemed to
improve rapidly, and even poor little Eddy was, as Ruby-Anne said,
"really picking up." Edah and Susan sewed busily from morning till
night, and Sam enjoyed very much spending his spare time in reading
aloud to them.
Two or three days after Edah's return home, came a kind note from Annie
Laurence, with a basket of fresh brook-trout and delicate fruit for
Mrs. Champlin, and, best of all, to Edah a package of new books. These
volumes furnished them with reading for a number of evenings, and Mrs.
Champlin declared one Saturday night that she had never spent so many
pleasant hours since she was married, as since Edah came to stay with
them. Pauline improved rapidly, not only in reading and sewing, but
also in general good manners and behavior; and as for Sam, his mother
declared that he was growing quite a dandy.
Among all these pleasant circumstances, there were one or two drawbacks
to Edah's comfort.
The first of these was Susan's jealous temper, which every now and then
showed itself in a very unpleasant fashion. So surely as Edah differed
from her in opinion about any thing, or suggested any improvement
in household matters, or, above all, offered to instruct her in any
way, so surely did Susan take refuge either in sullen ill-humor or
provoking sarcasm. The latter was the hardest to bear of all, for
since her acquaintance with the Laurence family commenced, the arrows
of Susan's wit were usually bestowed upon them, upon Mr. Willson, and
Episcopalians in general; and it was sometimes very hard for Edah not
to retort in what she felt would be a very unbecoming manner.
Two or three times, provoked past all patience, she had done so, but
of course it made matters much worse with Susan, and added to her
other troubles the reproaches of her own conscience. Mrs. Champlin
paid very little attention to these disputes, and if she noticed them,
she generally took Edah's part, and reproved Susan for not paying
her sister more respect, which did not mend matters at all. Sam was
usually on Edah's side, though he sometimes became offended with what
he called her over-strictness, and then he was pretty sure to join with
Susan in annoying her; but his ill-humor never lasted long, and he
generally tried to make up for it by increased kindness and attention
afterwards. Pauline was, of course, entirely on her sister's side; she
was a sharp little thing, with as great a talent for making provoking
speeches as Susan herself, and Edah's hardest task was keeping the
peace between these two, and in imposing silence upon Pauline, over
whom her influence wits almost unbounded. Sometimes for days together,
Susan would be in the best of tempers, and then all was sunshine in
the house, for no one could be more pleasant than she, if she were so
disposed.
The other and greater drawback to Edah's happiness, was her father. She
could not but see, from day to day, that his degrading habit increased
upon him, that he became more and more selfish and ill-tempered,
provided less for his family, and seemed to feel less affection for
them. She now fairly dreaded to see him enter the house, especially
in the afternoon, for he was sure to bring disturbance with him. He
found fault with Susan most unreasonably, scolded Pauline, and even on
two or three occasions boxed her ears; which last, while it threw the
child into a perfect phrensy of rage and grief, irritated and alarmed
Edah to an almost insupportable degree, knowing, as she did, her frail
constitution, and strong predisposition to nervous disease. He treated
Ruby-Anne in such a way that she determined to leave them, and would
have done so but for Edah's remonstrances.
"I can't help it, Miss Edah. I'd do a great deal for you and the
children; but I won't stay anywhere to be treated worse than a negro
slave. I've got a home, thank goodness, if it is a poor one, and I'll
go to it this very day."
"And what shall we do when you are gone?" asked Edah. "I know you have
had a great deal to bear, Ruby-Anne, but I believe you have had no more
than Susan or I."
"That's a fact too!" said Ruby-Anne, pondering. "And it's harder for
you, of course. I'm sure I wonder how you get on with things as you do.
Well, Miss Edah, I guess I'll try and keep the peace a little longer
for your sake. There ain't many like you in the world, that's certain;"
and so Ruby-Anne, who was really a good-natured and conscientious girl,
consented to stay, to Edah's great relief.
She dared not say a word to her father about his habits, for the most
distant allusion to the subject put him into a fearful passion, and the
only consequence was that he either came home entirely intoxicated, or
remained out all night. Edah would have preferred the latter, but his
continued absence always alarmed Mrs. Champlin to such a degree, as to
cause her three or four days of intense suffering.
It usually fell to Sam to let his father in and get him to bed, and a
hard time the poor boy had of it. On one of these occasions, as he was
trying to prevail upon him to retire quietly, without disturbing his
mother, Mr. Champlin became irritated, and struck him such a blow that
it knocked him down, and discolored his face for some days.
Under these circumstances, Edah felt greatly the want of a friend in
whom she could confide, and of whom she could ask advice; and having by
this time become very well acquainted with Mr. Willson, she determined
to seek such a friend in him. Accordingly, she rode over to Raeburn one
day with a neighbor, intending to spend the day at the parsonage, in
accordance with an invitation from Mrs. Willson.
Mr. Willson usually spent most of the morning in his study, and it
was there that Edah sought him. Her rather timid knock at the door
was answered by a cordial invitation to enter, and she found the
Rector in his study gown and slippers, comfortably seated in his great
armchair, and enjoying the luxury of a new review. Mr. Willson was a
man of considerable tact and penetration: he partly guessed the cause
of Edah's trouble, and gently and easily led the way to the expected
confidence. It turned out as he had anticipated. Edah told her story,
and begged for advice.
"I hardly know what to say, my dear child," said Mr. Willson, in a
gentle, fatherly way that Edah felt to be very consoling. "It is a
very difficult subject. The habit is not so recently formed with your
father, as you suppose, but has been growing upon him for some years.
At the time when I first began to think that he was going down hill,
he was a tolerably constant attendant at church, and even came to the
Communion three or four times a year. I took what I thought a favorable
opportunity, and remonstrated with him on the subject; but though he
admitted that he now and then took a glass with a neighbor, and perhaps
sometimes a little too much, he laughed at the idea of his being in any
danger of ever drinking to excess. My own temperance principles were
not as ultra then as they have since become. I forebore to press the
subject, and I think for some time my remonstrances had some effect,
and he did better: but the amendment was very short. Again I attacked
him about it; and this time he grew very angry, told me I was meddling
with what was none of my business, and has never to my knowledge
entered the church door since. I have often tried to speak with him,
but he always avoids me."
"It seems a hopeless case, indeed," said Edah wiping the tears from
her eyes, "but it seems too hard that nothing can be done to save him
from destruction. It is killing my mother, too. I sometimes fear that
it will be the death of her outright, or that her mind will give way
entirely. I am sure I do not see what is to become of us if it goes on
much longer. What do you suppose was the beginning of it, Mr. Willson?"
"I cannot tell, my dear. There has been a great deal of hard drinking
in this part of the country, and some of our finest men have fallen a
sacrifice to it. How does your brother feel about it?"
"It seems to me that indignation is the strongest feeling with him,"
replied Edah. "He is angry with father for so degrading himself, and,
above all, for his harshness to my mother and the children. I have
never said a word to him on the subject."
"That may, perhaps, be the wisest course."
"But, Mr. Willson, cannot you suggest some way to help us out of our
difficulty? Cannot you try remonstrating with my father again?"
"I can try, my dear," replied Mr. Willson, "but I have little hope of
any good resulting from it. When a man once becomes enslaved to this
debasing appetite, he is as if possessed by an evil spirit, and it
seems as if nothing short of a miracle could save him. In the mean
time, I need not recommend you to be earnest in seeking for strength
where alone it is to be found. I believe you have already learned where
to look for it."
"I trust so, sir, and indeed I have found, more need of seeking that
fountain than ever before. I think I have prayed more in the last month
than in all my life."
"And have you not found your prayers answered?"
"In some sense, sir, I have. I have found strength to overcome
temptation, and have often had it removed from me, and my way made
plain when it seemed the most hopeless. It often seems to me that my
prayers are directly responded to and that I have a sense of the direct
absolute presence of my God and Saviour. I am afraid you will think me
fanatical, Mr. Willson."
"By no means, my dear Edah. Such a sense of God's presence is what we
should most earnestly seek for in our prayers and all our devotions;
and when we lose the sense of His nearness to us, we should give
ourselves no rest under the loss, but anxiously, by repentance and deep
humility, and by carefully examining ourselves, seek to attain to it
again. As to giving you any father advice, I hardly know what to say.
I need not bid you keep yourself as busy as you can, for I know you
do that already. Be not too careful in spirit, but strive to commit
all your cares to God, as to a faithful Friend and tender Father. Make
diligent use of all the means of grace in your reach, above all praying
without ceasing. As to your father, I shall endeavor to see him, and
talk with him, though I fear he will only repulse me. For yourself, you
are in the path of duty—that strait and narrow path which leadeth unto
eternal life, and I can only counsel you to persevere, looking not to
an earthly but to a heavenly reward."
Edah returned home, greatly comforted by her talk with the Rector,
and by her pleasant chat with kind, motherly Mrs. Willson and her
two pretty, sprightly daughters. To these young ladies Edah was glad
to find she could be of service, and thus make some return for the
kindness of their parents. They were intelligent, lively girls, who
were trying to learn to draw under the disadvantages of having no
teacher, and of often being unable to procure suitable patterns. Edah
was very fond of drawing, and excelled especially in sketching from
nature, a pursuit for which the picturesque hills and woodlands around
Raeburn and Brooksville afforded ample scope, and she was glad to place
her portfolio at the service of Annette and Lucy, and to give them such
instruction and assistance as they needed most. She would gladly have
included Susan in her instructions, but Susan declined, on the plea of
having no time.
Mr. Willson kept his promise to Edah by seeking an opportunity to
converse with her father. Much to his surprise, Mr. Champlin received
what he had to say with a civil indifference. He was aware, he said,
that he had sometimes taken more than was good for him—quite as much so
as his best friends could be. He knew that the love of pleasant society
had sometimes led him into excesses, but he knew, also, that he had his
own trials, of which Mr. Willson was not aware. When a man had no peace
or comfort at home, he naturally went elsewhere to seek it, and for
that, those who drove him from home were responsible in a far greater
degree than he was.
Mr. Willson, however, not being disposed to admit the force of any of
these excuses, Mr. Champlin went on to say that he was sorry he had
caused any discomfort at home, as he supposed he might have done; and
as Mr. Willson's sympathies seemed all enlisted on the side of his wife
and children, he would assure him that their rest should no longer be
disturbed by him. This was all Mr. Willson could get out of him, and
he finally left him, completely in the dark as to what Mr. Champlin
intended to do.
Two or three days after Mr. Willson's remonstrance, Mr. Champlin came
home to dinner, and announced that important business required him
to start for New York by that evening's train, which passed through
Raeburn about seven o'clock. He spent most of the afternoon in packing
his trunk, a work about which he would accept of no assistance, and
having hired a neighbor to carry him over to the station, he bade his
family farewell, as it seemed with unusual tenderness, even coming
back, after he had gone out to the wagon, to kiss his wife and the baby
a second time.
Edah long remembered the way in which he pressed her hand, as he
said—"You are a good girl, Edah: take care of your mother and the
children when I am gone."
He gave Susan fifteen dollars, and bade her be careful of it; shook
hands with Sam, and then drove off at a rapid pace, looking back as far
as he could see the house, till a turn in the road hid it from his view.
"Father is as affectionate as if he were to be gone a year, instead of
a week," said Susan.
"There is something curious about his manner, too," replied Sam,
to whom she made this remark: "I never saw him so at all. I don't
understand it."
"What is the use of troubling yourself to account for father's whims?
You know he is as capricious as the wind. There is one comfort about
it—Edah will stay till he comes back."
"Oh!" said Sam. "I didn't suppose you would be very anxious to keep her
here."
"That is just the way," returned Susan: "you think because I am not
always running after Edah, and hanging about her, as you and Polly are,
that I don't care any thing for her, but you are greatly mistaken. I
like her just as well as you do; and if any thing were the matter with
her, you would see that I do."
"I think she would be glad to compound for a little common civility
now," said Sam, "for really, Sue, whether you know it or not, you are
not half civil to her. It isn't very often that we want people to do
grand things, or to make great sacrifices for us, but we feel the need
of kindness and politeness every day and all day long."
Susan made no reply, and the subject was dropped.
Mr. Champlin had said before his departure that he might be absent
about two weeks, and promised to write to his wife during the time, but
no letter came.
The time drew near which Edah had set for her departure, and she began
to make preparations for her return to Miss Anderson's, though she
determined not to go until her father was again at home. The family
had by degrees come to be very dependent upon her, and Mrs. Champlin
especially felt as though she should not be able to live without her.
As for Pauline, she could not hear of sister's going away, without a
passion of grief, and Edah began to have serious thoughts of taking the
child back to Miss Anderson's with her, when she received a letter from
Milly with the intelligence that her father had concluded not to let
her return to school again, and claiming the fulfilment of her promise
to spend the winter with them. Of course she could not for a moment
think of taking Pauline there with her. If she had been an ordinary
child, Edah might have felt more at ease about leaving her; but Pauline
was no common child: her thoughts and feelings were far in advance of
her years, and her affections possessed more intensity than belongs to
many grown-up persons. Then she was, unfortunately, far superior in
natural abilities to those about her.
Mrs. Champlin was a kind-hearted and well-meaning woman, but she
was without much cultivation, either mental or spiritual, and her
words and actions were directed almost entirely by the impulse of
the moment, whatever that impulse might be. Her naturally kind and
gentle disposition had been fretted and soured by constant illness and
suffering, and still more by domestic troubles; and the irritation
she would not or dared not manifest towards the direct cause of her
distress, was very frequently bestowed upon the other members of the
family. Such a mother could be no fit guide for an irritable and
delicate child, whose little head was constantly filled with thoughts
and questions altogether too grave for her years, and the force of
whose passions was as much above what it should be, as her strength
was below. Mrs. Champlin had, in fact, almost no influence with her
children: they were fond of her, and often assiduous in waiting
upon her, but they never dreamed of obeying her unless it suited
their own convenience. Edah was the only one of the family who ever
thought of consulting her upon her movements, and Mrs. Champlin often
felt painfully the contrast between the careful deference of her
stepdaughter and the careless independence of her own children.
While Edah was revolving in her own mind what it was best to do, she
was most agreeably surprised by a visit from her guardian. She was
deeply attached to Mr. Liston, with whom she had spent almost all her
early years, as well as her vacations since she had been at school, and
he on his part loved his ward better than any thing else in the world.
Mr. Liston was a straightforward, honorable, steady man of business,
who never owed a penny that he could not pay on the instant, and never
took the slightest advantage of any one. He went to church regularly
once every Sunday, and read the papers the rest of the day, gave
bountifully to charitable objects of every kind, without ever troubling
himself to inquire into their merit, was a perfectly inoffensive
neighbor, and a judicious and faithful friend to all his employees and
dependents. He had made the most of Edah's moderate property, and no
one doubted that she would be his heiress. His only brother had lately
died in India, and it was some business in relation to his estate which
now called him to that distant country, for which he intended to set
out as soon as he had made the necessary arrangements for the comfort
and security of his ward during his absence.
Mr. Liston stayed two days in Brooksville, lodging at the so-called
"hotel," and held many long conversations with Edah about her plans and
wishes, which conversations ended with his leaving it entirely optional
with her to return to Miss Anderson's for another year, or to spend the
time with her friends in New York. Edah thought, though he did not say
so, that he would prefer the former arrangement, and asked him if it
were not so. Mr. Liston admitted that it was.
"I shall not be away more than a year," he said; "and on the whole, I
would prefer that your entrance into society—an absurd institution, my
dear, but one to which we must all pay some deference—should be made
under my own eye. Maria Concklin is a kind creature, but she is not
over-wise, and Mr. Amory is as much out of the world as the stuffed
elephant at the museum. Still, as this plan has been of long standing,
and any alteration of it would be a great disappointment to your
friend—a very nice girl, she seems—I am willing that you should spend
the winter there. How much longer do you intend to remain here?"
"'Till my father returns," replied Edah. "I had no thought of staying
any longer; but mother is so unwell, and the poor baby so sickly, that
I do not like to leave at present."
"Very well, my dear; act your own judgment about it. I shall leave a
suitable allowance for you in Mr. Amory's hands, which he will pay
to you quarterly, and I shall expect you to keep strictly within it,
incurring no debt, however trifling. You know that is the one thing,
about which I have always been positive. I have given him directions
not to advance a single penny, so if you use it up too fast, you will
have to wait for more till next quarter-day. And now, I must bid you
good-by."
"So soon!" said Edah.
"So soon!" replied Mr. Liston. "I did not intend to sail under two
weeks, but circumstances have occurred to alter my plans. If any thing
should happen to me, my affairs are all in Amory's hands, and he will
take my place to you. So farewell, my child, and write to me very
often. You will hear from London. God bless you!"
Edah knew very well how much her guardian disliked a scene, and she
restrained her tears till he was out of sight, making herself amends by
a regular school-girl fit of crying afterwards.
She could not help thinking her guardian unusually strict in regard to
money matters, and puzzled herself to think what could be the reason.
The fact was, Mr. Liston had thought it very probable that Edah's
father would want to borrow money of her, and he determined to put it
entirely out of her power to lend him any. Then a few days afterwards,
she received a note from Mr. Liston saying that he was just going on
board the steamer, and should write again as soon as he landed in
England.
Mr. Champlin had been absent nearly two weeks, when one afternoon Sam
came up from the post-office, bringing a letter for his mother.
"It is from father, and there is money in it," said he; "I do not
believe he is coming home after all. There are heaps of things for you,
Edah. I declare, I wonder how girls can write so many letters. You have
certainly doubled the revenue of our post-office since you have been
here. I am sure you cannot find sense enough to fill up all these pages
of fine writing."
"And there is something for you, which is more than you deserve, after
your ungallant speech," said Edah, handing him some numbers of popular
magazines which Milly had sent her, and then becoming absorbed in the
perusal of her own letters. She was so intent upon the contents of
an epistle from Mr. and Mrs. Wardwell that she took no notice of her
companions, till she was roused by a sort of hysterical gasp from her
mother, and a shriek from Pauline, and saw Sam spring forward just in
time to prevent Eddy from falling to the floor, as Mrs. Champlin sank
back in her chair, in a violent fit of hysterics.
Throwing down her letter, she sprang to her aid, and having quieted
Pauline by giving her the baby to hold, she took the first means at
hand of restoring her mother to consciousness, without having any idea
of what had caused her agitation.
Mrs. Champlin recovered for a moment, but it was only to fall into
another fit, more violent than the first, and Edah, becoming seriously
alarmed, dispatched Sam for the doctor, and with the assistance of
Susan and Ruby-Anne, got her upon the bed.
Doctor Longford happened to be passing near the house, and came in
almost immediately. He administered such restoratives as he thought
proper, and when his patient became in some degree quiet, called Edah
into the other room, and asked her if she had any idea what had caused
the seizure.
"Not the least, sir," replied Edah. "She has been remarkably well for
several days past."
"I think it was something in father's letter," said Pauline, who, after
her first fright was over, had devoted herself to the baby. "She was
reading it when she made that noise first."
"Where is the letter?" asked Edah.
"There, on the table, and the money that was in it. I laid them all
together."
"Read the letter, Sam," said Edah, relieving Pauline of her charge.
Sam glanced his eye over it, and then, with a flushed face, he said, in
a tone of extreme bitterness—
"He has finished up the matter now. He has gone off to California."
"Gone!" exclaimed Susan, who had come into the parlor, leaving
Ruby-Anne with her mother. "He has not really gone, has he?"
"Gone for good!" said Sam. "Hear what he says:
"'MY DEAR WIFE—
"'Before this reaches you, I shall be on the sea, far on my way to
California, or somewhere else, when I shall be out of the way. I am
aware that I have been nothing but a burden to you for a long time, and
that the whole family will look upon my going as a relief. I send you
some money—all that I can spare, and shall let you have more, if I get
it myself. You won't see me again until I come home a rich man. If you
had made things comfortable for me at home, I should never have been
driven to the tavern, and so have been ruined; but I forgive you, and
hope you will be happy. The children must go to work and earn their
living, and Edah may do something to help you—she is rich enough. I
tried to borrow some money of old Liston, but he would not let me have
a cent. Good-by, and God bless you!'"
"It was worth while to put that in at the end, to be sure," said Susan,
bitterly. "I don't care; I am glad he has gone!"
"Hush, Susan, love! Don't speak so," said Edah. "Remember he is our
father, after all. I can hardly believe that he is really gone."
"I can," replied Sam. "Don't you know, Sue, we noticed his manner the
day he went away, and he has taken all his clothes. What is to become
of us now, I wonder?"
"How much money has he sent?" asked Susan.
"Twenty-five—no, forty dollars," replied Sam, counting it over. "That
will last a little while, and we may get something out of the office
and lumber-yard, though I doubt it. I presume his debts cover all that,
and more too."
"We will not trouble ourselves about that, just at this moment," said
Edah. "We have enough to do to take care of mother. I am afraid this
will be altogether too much for her."
"And to charge her with it!" exclaimed Susan. "That is the worst of
all. I should think he might have left that out, at any rate."
"It is the nature of men to throw all the blame of their own faults
upon their wives," remarked the doctor. "They have all done it, from
the first man down. But I must look in at your mother again before I
go."
For two or three hours, Mrs. Champlin alternated between violent
convulsions and insensibility, but by degrees she became more quiet,
and finally sank into a deep slumber.
The kind old doctor took his leave, promising to call the first thing
in the morning.
Pauline, who had quietly cried herself to sleep on the sofa, was
carried up stairs and put to bed. Edah persuaded Susan to retire and
take the baby with her, and the house was again quiet.