"Cousin Mehitable," I pleaded, "don't be hard on me. I know he's done
wrong, and it hurts me more than I can tell you. I am so sorry for him
and I really, really love him. I'm all alone now except for baby, and I
am sure if Father were alive he would see how I feel, and approve of
what I mean to do."
The tears came into her eyes as I had never seen them. She drew her
hands away, but first she pressed mine.
"Ruth," she said, "never mind my tongue. If you've only baby, I've
nobody but you, and you won't come near me. Besides, you are going to
have him. I can't pretend I like it, Ruth; but I do like you, and I do
dearly hope you'll be happy. You deserve to be, my dear; and I'm a
selfish, worldly old woman, with a train to catch. Now don't say another
word about it, or I'll disinherit you in my will."
So we kissed each other, and she went away with my secret.
November 25. Kathie has come home for her Thanksgiving vacation, and I
never saw a creature so transformed. She is so interested in her school,
her studies, her companions, that she seems to have forgotten that
anybody ever frightened her about her soul; and she is just a merry,
happy girl, bright-eyed and rather high-strung, but not in the least
morbid. She hugged me, and kissed Tomine, and the nonsense of her
jealousy, as of her having committed the unpardonable sin, was forgotten
entirely. It is an unspeakable comfort to me that the experiment of
sending her away has turned out so well.
Miss Charlotte came in while Kathie was here, and watched her with
shrewd, keen eyes as she rattled on about the things she is studying,
the games she plays, and the friends she has made. When she had gone,
Miss Charlotte looked at me with one of her friendly regards.
"She's made over, like the boy's jackknife that had a new blade and a
new handle," was her comment. "I think, my dear, you've saved her soul
alive."
I was delighted that she thought Kathie so much improved, though of
course I realized I had not done it.
November 26. I have invited George to Thanksgiving dinner. I do hope
Gertrude will be able to come downstairs; if she is not I shall have to
get through as best I can without her. Miss Charlotte will come, and
that will prevent the awkwardness of our being by ourselves.
George comes every day to see his wife, and I think his real feelings,
his better side, have been called out by her illness. She is the mother
of his son, and she is so extremely pretty and pathetic as she lies
there, that I should not think any man could resist her. She is so
softened by what she has gone through, and so grateful for kindness, she
seems a different person from the over-dressed woman we have known
without liking very much.
She told me yesterday a good deal about her former life. She has been an
orphan from her early girlhood, largely dependent upon an aunt who
wanted to be rid of her. It was partly by the contrivance of her aunt,
and partly because she longed to escape from a position of dependence,
that she married her first husband. She did not stop, I think, to
consider what she was doing, and she found her case a pretty hard one.
Her husband abused her, and before they had been married a year he ran
away to escape a charge of embezzlement. Word was sent to her soon after
that he was drowned. She took again her maiden name, and came East to
escape all shadow of the disgrace of her married life. She earned her
living as a typewriter, until she saw George at Franklin, where she was
employed in the bank. She confessed that she came here to secure him,
and she wept in begging my pardon for taking him away from me.
If she can keep to her resolutions and if George will only be still fond
of her, things may yet go well with them. Aunt Naomi dryly observed
yesterday that what has happened will be likely to prevent Mrs. Weston
for a long time to come from trying to make a display, and so it may be
the best thing that could have befallen her. So much depends upon
George, though!
November 30. The dinner went off much better than I could have hoped.
Dr. Wentworth allowed Gertrude to leave her room for the first time, and
George brought her down to dinner in his arms. She was given only a
quarter of an hour, but this served for the topic of talk, and George
was so tender with his wife that Miss Charlotte was quite warmed to him.
The two babies of course had to be produced, but it was rather painful
to see how thin and spindling the little Weston baby looked beside my
bonny Thomasine. Tomine has grown really to know me. She will come
scrambling like a little crab across the floor toward me if I appear in
the nursery. Hannah and Rosa are both jealous of me, and I triumph over
them in a fashion little less than inhuman.
I am glad Thanksgiving is over, for in spite of all any of us might do
to seem perfectly at ease, some sense of constraint and
uncomfortableness was always in the background. On the whole, however,
we did very well; and Miss Charlotte sat with me far into the twilight,
talking of Mother.